Feast of the Samhain
by KathainBowen
Summary: After Ronon starts to slowly turn into a monster by moonlight, Sheppard disappears for six years while searching for a cure. But what happened to break him so badly? Werewolves and whump, oh my!
1. Overture

**FEAST OF THE SAMHAIN - OVERTURE**

Dog hurt. Every inch of him. From the tip of his snout to each of his toes, down every muscle and sinking into every joint with a stiff ache. Every breath he drew sent new agony through his battered ribcage and down his flanks in lightning waves. The frigid air peppered his bare flesh and sent violent shivers down his emaciated form. His head throbbed with exquisite suffering from the last blow, so much so that Dog could no longer hold it, or any of himself up. He slumped along the damp, cold stone floor in a beaten, broken heap, blood oozing from where the steel bit held his jaws open, from where his chains had rubbed him raw, and from the seeming endless array of angry and inflamed gashes and burns across his body. Dog tried not to move, not to feel, to ignore how his lungs and ribs protesting against breathing, to keep his gaze from settling upon where his limbs were mangled and contorted at awkward, unnatural, and obviously broken angles. He let his blurry eyes closed, hoping to just drift away, whether it meant to sleep or into the arms of death.

There had been a time, long ago, when Dog's life had been worth living. There had been a sprawling but cozy home he distantly recalled in the hazy depths of his dreams. It had been so long that Dog could no longer accurately remember what it looked like or what it had been like, but, when Dog slept, he tried desperately to cling to what scant memories remained. There had been light there. There had been food, delicious food. He had a warm, comfortable bed to sleep in. And he had a pack. He could not picture them, but he remembered them. They had trusted him, followed him. He had been their Alpha. Dog remembered that but not any of the feelings he knew had once been associated with that, aside from the crushing loneliness Dog felt in its absence. That, however, was a long time ago.

Now, Dog hoped each day for death. There was no warmth hear, only an icy, arctic cold that stole his breath away. There was no light here, only a darkness that threatened to swallow Dog, body and soul. There was barely any food. Dog felt each of his bones sticking out as his stomach grumbled and his hunger begged to be appeased. When he did manage to beg for scraps, it was always too much and too heavy, his stomach instantly betraying him. There was no comfortable, safe place to sleep. Here, there were chains, whips, burning brands, bits and muzzles. There, he could sleep when he needed, rest and feel relaxed; here, Dog never felt safe enough to close his eyes and rested only when sleep sucker punched him. Here, there was no pack to surround himself with. He had been sleek and well muscled before, but, now, Dog felt brittle and feeble. There were other creatures like him, but they would not accept him as pack. Before, he had been an Alpha, respected and trusted; he led then as top dog, with pride and strength. Now, he was the Omega, the lowest of the low. Even at the beginning, there had been a fight to Dog, a defiance borne of a wild, untamable creature that bowed to no man, but even that had been sapped from him by the years. Dog prayed desperately for it to just be done and over with so that the pain would just be over and so that his pack would never see him so broken.

There were noises in the hallway, dredging up Dog's attention. He did not lift his head, but he listened. Dog pricked his ears to the motion, following the angry, bitter shouting and the heavy stomping. Dog had learnt years ago to keep on edge and to pay close attention to his masters. The better he behaved and the more attentive of a pet Dog was, the less his masters tended to hurt him. He would have normally sat up at attention like a good puppy, but Dog hadn't the strength left. Dog tensed involuntarily; his current master would be displeased with him that he did not rise.

His masters did not come, but there were many footsteps in the hall.

Something had changed. Dog didn't like change anymore. There had been a time when he may have like alterations, finding relish in adapting and overcoming, but not anymore. It wasn't like he could vividly recall that part of his life, but Dog knew it was there. Dog had been broken long ago and had found a sort of horrible, gut-wrenching security in the routine, no matter how creative and abusive the routine had become over the years.

Dog shuddered to think of it as he kept his ear trained to the sounds as they shuffled against the rock. He shifted his weight uneasily, wishing he could summon the energy to move, to recoil back, deeper into his cage, wanting to go back to the normal schedule. Routine was bad. Oh, it was very bad. There was no denying that. Routine meant predictable intervals when he was served a wide variety of tortures and suffering. Dog was quite used to the routine by now.

However bad the routine was, Change was worse. Change meant something new. Change meant scrapping together some last bit of strength and will to live so he could adapt and survive. Never to conquer or overcome. Always to survive, since Dog had learnt long ago that he would never escape these horrible places, never return to the wild, free places of the world again, and never chase that blue horizon ever. Change was a constant reminder of the possibility that the routine could be broken, teasing Dog with the false hope that, one day, someone would see fit to remove the collar that had been chaffing and digging into his neck as well as the muzzle that bit into his lips and clamped the steel, foul tasting bit between his teeth.

Change meant so many awful things in Dog's new world, his new life. Sometimes, it meant a different master wielding the various instruments of his agony. Sometimes it meant longer periods without food or water, until his head ached worse that his stomach and when he could no longer even crawl to the length of his chain. Other, worse times, change meant new companions, new challengers in bigger, tougher males, purebreds trained to fight and kill. Those were the worst changes. Just when Dog thought he had an upper hand on his opponents, they would send a new one into the pit with him, and Dog would end up bloodied and barely conscious by the end of the fight, knowing he would have to relearn strategies and weaknesses of his opponents. The last time there had been a change, when his new master took him, Dog became bait, a training tool to test the resolve and skill of the others while he remained shackled in place and muzzled, unable to defend himself.

Oh, yes, Dog absolutely loathed change.

The footsteps drew louder and closer. Dog screwed his eyes shut, feeling his entire body go rigid with fear for a moment that his masters had returned. Yet, there was no blow, no cutting knife, no kicks or punches or snide remarks. None of it. There was, however, an audible gasp.

Dog dared to open his eyes. His right eye had been sorely injured sometime ago and left a great, gaping blurry patch there, a massive blindspot occupied only by faded, watery blurs that could be anything. His eyelids felt heavy and leaden, but Dog managed to open them, albeit with heavy effort. He immediately snapped his eyes shut against the blinding, almost painful light before trying once more, blinking owlishly and forcing his bleary, good eye to focus. There were two shadows standing at the bars to his cage, one working to open the lock. The other held a crisply burning lantern to the dark cell, the source of the light that had blinded his atrophied eyes so.

When his gaze settled enough that the forms took shape into somewhat neat silhouettes, Dog scowled at them. Neither of this was his master, nor any of the people he knew to be among his keepers. He should have barked, growled, threatened. That was what Dog had been trained to do when faced with strangers, to fight and drive them away like a good guard. When he did, Dog earned himself a bit of rest, a bowl of clean water as opposed to the foul, brackish stuff they often gave him, and a bit of meat. Yet his newest master had grown tired of Dog's lamenting howls in the night and pathetic whimpering in the training pit and quickly silenced Dog.

Adrenaline coursed through his veins when the door swung open with a deafening, metallic groan and as the strangers stepped inside with him. Despite how sickly, how weak and how injured Dog felt, he shambled to his feet, raising his hackles instantly and bristling. Dog sunk upon his haunches, ready to spring it they got any closer. He lifted his lips over the steel muzzle to bare his teeth. It wasn't the greatest of threats granted the bit that kept him from actually closing his jaws, but Dog showed his teeth anyway out of instinct. His muscles tensed when one of the shadows came closer, reaching out a hand towards him. Dog crouched back, pressing against the wall. His nerves sang with sharp pains and bitter, searing lightning of the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

The figure that had gotten closer, a massive, hulking male who's scent of musk an leather even managed to cut through the overpowering stench of Dog's blood, sweat, piss, and fear that hung over the cage, called softly, crooning to him in a rumbling voice. "Shh... It's okay."

Dog pressed deeper against the back of the cage, dropping his head and narrowing his eyes in threat. The humans were strange creatures compared to Dog and his kind, but they were smart, after all, the humans were the masters of the monsters. It was by their whim and theirs alone that Dog lived or died. These humans should be smart enough to understand to back away slowly right now.

"Shh... Hey, hey..." the big man attempted to sooth and calm Dog as he took another step towards the monster.

Dog's heart thundered in his ears under he thought it might rip itself right out of his chest. His breathes came as quick, ragged things, partially choked by the metallic bit in his ruined teeth. The humans weren't leaving. Instead, they came closer and closer, holding out his hand. Maybe they were new masters or friends of the master. No. Dog trembled to think about that. Strangers that were welcome came only with the master. That thought only served to open a new spring of utter terror in Dog. The big man reached, and Dog jerked back away from the open hand as fast as his injured and mangled body could take him, while sparks danced across his vision as his twisted limbs struggled to work properly and as bone shards grated against one another.

The big man took a few more careful, calculated steps forward. Dog knew he should have been launching into hysterics and allow the almost palpable fear that loomed overhead to take him, but an eerie calm settled over him. It was the calm of a predator. Dog waited as the big man drew closer, allowing his panicked breathes to at least serve to take in and study the stranger's scent. The stranger smelt of leather and of musk, yes, but something lingered beneath that. A sweet saltiness and a sort of clean ozone aroma. Dog's good eye flickered over the big man, studying him as he got close, while his essentially blind eye was dragged alone by the motion. He studied the motion, the balling and compression of muscles, the tightening at the neck of this stranger.

"We're not going to hurt you. It's okay, Buddy. You're safe now," the large male promised in what Dog knew could be nothing but the purest of lies, tasting it like acid on the tip of his tongue- and Dog _knew _for a fact what that tasted like.

Dog waited impatiently in a state of sharp tension, slowing his breaths and willing his heart to slow. It was like in the fighting pit. Dog wasn't as large or as strong as the others, and, so, he had learned to wait for his opponents to present their weakness to him so Dog could exploit them. Here, in the cage, bound by his chains and collar, Dog knew the limit of his reach, worn in a filthy ring of dried, caked blood upon the floor, just beyond the big male's feet. He waited for the opportune moment, lulling the human into a false sense of security by hanging his aching head once more. This particularly gullible human seemed to take that as a sign that Dog submitted, taking the final step inside the ring before kneeling down in front of Dog.

Some part of Dog, the fierce, wild part of him, snapped at that moment. He sprang then, ignoring the intense pangs through his body and forcing himself to move. He clawed through the air at the big man. The stranger must have been sensing this, as he managed to unsling some sort of weapon and aim it right at Dog as he pounced the big man and sent the two of them to the ground. Dog's eyes went wide as the tip pressed into his chest and as his mind recognized it as one of the human's guns, but he had no time to react.

The thing went off with a flash. It was like lightning, sending rigid jolts of electricity wracking through his body, tensing and contracting each of his muscles. Sparks danced across Dog's already blurred and ruined vision, red and jagged. It had sent his jaw clenching tightly like a vise over the bit until copper splashed over his tongue where his gums were ripped open by that awful bit. The big man threw Dog off of him and scrambled back and out of the ring of blood stains. Yet Dog didn't go down easily. After everything Dog had been through over the years, after all the different tortures and horrors, it took more than that to bring the beast down with a single electric shock, _much _more in fact. It _did, _however, daze Dog terribly, so much so that he fought to concentrate on the men standing over him as they backed away and well outside of his reach. They argued, but Dog didn't understand a word of it. He shook off the shot as best he could, his muscles quivering from the after effects as he stood on swaying, unsteady legs.

The big man looked down at Dog with a solemn, sad look of commiseration before taking aim again and squeezing almost lovingly on the trigger, sighing heavily, "This is for your own good, Sheppard."

The second shock, while it did not catch Dog off guard, did take him down and sent him swirling into blessed, merciful darkness.

**XXX**

**XXXXX**

**XXX**

**Author's Notes: **a.) If you haven't figured it out by my other stories, I am seriously into the angst and the whump. Cereal KathainBowen is super-duper-cereal about this. This fic will be dark, very dark, if you also haven't already clued into that. If you're not into that, be forewarned. If you're into it, and want to see what happened, I also warn you, the rating is HIGHLY likely to go up to mature.

b.) Uh... it's worse than it looks.

c.) This is kind of an homage to a combination of a bunch of fics floating around out there. I want to give mad props to IShotSherlock for the _CSI _fic _**Found, but Badly Broken**_**. **I wanted to do a remix but without being a total rip, and my brain kind of inserted the Charlaine Harris Southern Vampire novels before scrambling things about and mucking it up a bit.

d.) Yes... poor, poor Sheppard. Why do we love to hurt you so? Meh. Probably because, to quote the fabulous Voltaire in his song "When You're Evil" :

_"I do it all because I'm evil_

_And I do it all for free_

_Your tears are all the pay I'll ever need."_

Hope you lot enjoy. Ronon whump to follow shortly!


	2. Cry Havoc

**FEAST OF THE SAMHAIM - CRY HAVOC**

"...how thin he is..."

Dog floated for a time, drifting in and out of consciousness before true awareness slowly returned to him in snatches of sensation here and there. It started with an unusual and not at all pleasant tingling sensation, radiating outward from his chest where the shots and caught him and down each and everyone of his muscles as feeling returned. That closely proceeded the dull aches and searing pains that had been Dog's world for so very long. Something warm and plush spread beneath him, as opposed to the cold, hard stone or straw piles he had grown accustomed to over the years.

"... temp's 104.2..."

There were people about him, moving over him in the haze and speaking in soft, worried murmurs as though afraid of waking Dog. Even in his addled brain, Dog registered this as strange. His masters had never spoken in hushed tones before. They had been loud and abrasive, full of coarse language and humiliating remarks, but never with any degree of concern. The hands upon him, manipulating his mangled limbs and probing his many injures, were also gentle as opposed to aggressively digging in to exacerbate the pain. It was all too disquieting.

"...start a line..."

Dog inhaled deeply and took in the scent of the air, tasting an odd combination of caustic antiseptic and a slight hint of damp saltiness. The harsh scent stung at Dog's heightened awareness as he trudged closer to lucidity. It was a familiar smell, and one that bothered him. A beeping noise cut through the fog, speeding up slightly. One of the hands among the many handling him pried at his eyelids one at a time, searing his skull as blinding, white light was let in with a cheery sort of clicking noise that sent Dog's muscles tensing.

"...detachment of the right retina..."

There was a sharp prick at the inside of Dog's arm, and, suddenly, something clicked in Dog's mind. The scent. The assessment of his condition. The feeling of an IV needle being inserted into his vein. Dog trembled involuntarily as his heart thumped in his chest and the earsplitting beeping sped up further to an almost maddening pace. Dog wasn't sick. He didn't need the vet. Not again. Dog choked back his own tears.

"He's coming around..." The voice, feminine and calm spoke softly as a blurry silhouette faced Dog and placed a hand upon his shoulder. "Colonel Sheppard... can you hear me?"

Dog snapped his eyes open fully and sprang into motion, leaping from the softness on unsteady legs onto a cool, almost metallic feeling floor. However, his ruined ankle immediately gave out on him, and Dog's legs crumpled out beneath him, sending him crashing to the ground. The needle ripped from his arm, but it was an insignificant pain compared to the symphony of suffering in the rest of his body. Yet Dog had learned long ago never to show such weakness as injury, no matter how grave; his masters and his opponents in the ring would just use that against him.

Even so, he didn't have time to allow his body the respite it demanded so bitterly; his new masters were coming from him, approaching and circling him. They were speaking, crooning to him and begging him to just relax, to calm down. They came slowly, almost hesitantly, but that didn't mean they were coming. More people like the vets that had tended to him over the years, patching him up. Dog clawed at the floor, dragging himself away from them as they came closer and closer, until he slammed into something hard and unyielding. Dog jerked violently, but found it was a wall. They had him cornered now. Soon, they would take him down, stick him full of their poisons and take everything from him. The last time, they had silenced him forever. Dog shuddered at the memory, sending licks of cold fire through his aching ribs.

"Shhh... you're safe now..." one of the people spoke. A female. "Calm down. Shh... shh... It's okay... everything's going to be okay. We have you now, John..."

Dog shook his head and screwed his eyes shut. Lies. All of it was lies. He had heard it before, so many times before. His masters had enjoyed lying to him, deceiving him. Once, his master had asked Dog if he wanted to go outside, and Dog had foolishly nodded his head, only to be dragged out into the scorching sun to be left for two days without water or food while his keepers laughed to themselves every time they passed Dog on his chain. His fellow beasts had often reveled in luring Dog in with the promise of friendship, of trust, and of a new pack, before turning on him and driving him away. On more than one occasion, his food and water had been tainted with different toxins that had torn him apart from the inside out. Dog now knew better than to trust the kindness of masters. These masters had been kind enough to take the steel bit from his teeth and unchain him, but Dog knew that was just a teaser before the torture. Dog knew this because they had not taken the collar from off his neck. Dog drew his limbs up close to himself, curling up protectively, shivering from the effort.

"John... you're home now." The voice came closer, and Dog saw it belonged to a woman with a pert, rounded little face and long, strawberry blonde locks. She reached out with a pale hand to him, saying, "You're home."

She was too close now, far too close, mocking him by offering him false kindness and sympathy. Dog reacted instinctively, lunging towards her, jaws snapping and claws swinging. She screamed shrilly, but something large and stolid caught Dog before he could pounce upon her. He swung about to strike whoever it was that caught him, but there came a sharp jab at the side of his neck, pouring liquid fire into his veins. Thick arms wrapped about him, catching Dog about the chest and squeezing tightly. Dog bucked wildly, gnashing his teeth, but the thing that held him refused to budge.

"Calm down, Sheppard. Just calm down," the deep, bass voice of the man that had shot Dog in the cell thundered in his ear from behind him.

Dog writhed and twisted in the big man's grip, but a chemical induced fog had already condensed over his mind. His muscles went limp as his movements became sluggish uncoordinated. He blinked, trying to clear his worsening vision, but his eyelids were already growing heavy. More drugs from more keepers lying right to his face. Dog grit his teeth, still feebly struggling as darkness swelled about his vision. There were hands on him once more, rubbing the few spots on his arms not covered in cuts and bruises as though tenderly, but the sensation sent Dog's shrunken stomach churning while the spots they touched burnt with searing heat. He kicked out one last time before the his body went limp and the warmth of the drugs stole his fleeting awareness away, but it brought no comfort. Instead, it left with Dog the gripping horror of knowing that these people- these new masters- could and would do anything they wanted to him while he was out.

The last thing Dog remembered was being lifted up and cradled in strong arms while the woman whispered, "God, John, what happened to you?"

xxxx

_Six years earlier:_

They were running out of names, and that had to be a sad day for Atlantis. Now that the both the Wraith and the Goa'uld were mostly pacified and broken up to just fringe pockets of violence, both Gates had resumed their primary function of exploration. While many worlds came with names from the locals, some bland and boring, many inexplicable and utterly impossible to pronounce, there was still a large percentage of worlds that had been either seemingly abandoned or completely culled away in both galaxies. That left a rather long list of worlds for the numeric cataloguing and affection "pet-naming." Each world became saddled with a name outside of the catalogue to at least give each location a sort of personality and identity, out of habit, really.

While many of the others didn't take so well to this, Lt. Colonel John Sheppard and Dr. Rodney McKay seemed dead set upon out doing one another in a sort of naming contest, and many of the greener teams enjoyed the game from the sidelines. A whiteboard had even been set-up in one of the labs for the choicest of names to be recorded on the side, with different teams and individuals jumping in at any time with their favorites. It had even started into a sort of betting pool with no real end in sight, as camps of fans furiously defended the records, almost going to blows with Dr. Radek Zelenka when he nearly erased the damned thing. However, much to the chagrin of the fans, even they were starting to run out of possibilities, and the recent additions had been bland at best.

Both Sheppard and McKay had a good feeling this one would change the recent boring streak. Immediately upon setting foot onto the world and getting an initial survey of the world, both of them had known the perfect name if it weren't inhabited. They kept it to themselves, however, waiting for the initial survey to turn up anything but finding nothing. Only then did they both blurt it out at the same time.

"I still say I came up with it first, so it should count for me," Rodney argued.

Sheppard arched an eyebrow. "You can't still be harping on that, are you? You're two up; you can afford to give up this one."

"Nuh-uh. Not when it's this... this good."

Sheppard rolled his eyes, but he knew it was the truth. It was _that _good. All of the names from _Star Wars_ had been dried up long ago by one particularly fanatic team, despite the discovery of a listing of hundreds of worlds in the fictional galaxy, and, judging by the weighty list from one team of rival near zealot fans, most, if not all of the _Star Trek _worlds had been used up. Sheppard wasn't really up to speed on that, but he managed to keep with the team that must have been obsessed with video games judging by entries that he recognized from _Halo_, _World of Warcraft_, and _Everquest_ locations. Zelenka had been helpful in suggesting Czech names that only he seemed able to wrap his tongue around. In the mean time, Sheppard and Rodney jumped about from subject to subject, constantly dipping into different sources - although, Sheppard still argued that Rodney cheated when he called one world Galactic Sector ZZ9 Plural Z Alpha from _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy _for a world not unlike Earth except that it was largely inhabited by small woodland creatures generally considered to truly be mostly harmless. Yet, after all that, no one had found a world that so aptly matched this particular world.

Lothlorien, they had dubbed it at the exact same time. It had tall, towering trees that seemed to radiant a cool, pale blue luminescence. They rose to the heavens, far taller than any of the redwoods on earth, great and ancient, as though they had seen countless ages. There were rivers here and there that drifted lazily between the massive trunks, as well as calm pools nestled in small dips. There were a few, white birds that darted between the trees, but, otherwise, the world sounded calm, quiet, and virtually uninhabited. The world had an unnatural but absolutely tranquil and peaceful quality to it, still as could be. It felt relaxing and inviting after so long fearing worlds swarming with Wraith. Although Ronon and Teyla did not understand the reference, shrugging it off as they often did when the name game come up, Lothlorien was a good name, fitting. When Sheppard and McKay thought about it, they could picture Cate Blanchett tiptoeing through the trees in long, flowing white robes as Galadriel the elf. It was so lulling that the expedition opted to stay on Lothlorien overnight to continue exploring in the morning and collect samples to take back to Atlantis.

McKay kept arguing as the last bits of twilight faded about them as he helped Teyla and Sheppard collect firewood while Ronon caught a few fish from the rivers for dinner. Even as the night fell around them and Ronon set a small camp fire, McKay could still be heard muttering and arguing that he should get credit for the name. Sheppard, Teyla, and Ronon merely chuckled and added their own, teasing remarks every now and again. Eventually, the trees even dimmed to near pitch. As it honestly grew dark around them and the fish cooked over the fire, Sheppard conceded; he'd find three more planets to tie things up later.

The doctor huffed as they settled down about the crackling fire after dinner. "Some camping trip. We don't even have s'mores." Teyla furrowed her brow at the seemingly strange comment as Sheppard rolled his eyes, but Rodney went on, "And this hard ground, it's terrible for the spine. I'm going to wake up with a terrible crick in my neck, you know?"

"You never camped as a kid, did you, McKay?" the colonel asked with a chuckle.

The doctor shook his head. "Never."

"You led a seriously boring childhood," Sheppard teased. "Tell me you at least had a tree house or something?" McKay's lips pursed into a frown, and Sheppard took that as enough of an answer, shaking his head. "Wow. Deprived."

"Yes, well, some of us were designing important inventions and conducting experiments that couldn't be left unattended for traipsing arou-"

Ronon stood abruptly and without warning, every muscle stiff and tensed. His hand had immediately shot to his stunner, and there it hovered, ready to draw in a heartbeat. Sheppard took it as a bad sign and followed suit, a millisecond behind the runner, and, in a flash, both men were up. The colonel had his sidearm drawn and trained on the darkness of the woods about them. Yet, there was nothing out there in the shadows and vast expanse of Lothlorien's ambling forests. There seeming nothing to the creeping dark and lingering traces of pale ambient light emitted by the great trees.

"What's up, Buddy?"

Ronon furrowed his brow, still scanning the still woods about them as he held up a cautionary hand. "Thought I heard something."

"No doubt any number of disease carrying bugs or rabid ani-"

"Quiet," the Satedan growled, silencing McKay with an intimidating glare.

Sheppard kept his eyes trained on the still woods that surrounded them and the cool mists that must have settled at some point when the made camp. There was nothing. Not a trace of motion. Sheppard hadn't heard a damned thing, but he had learned long ago, from personal experience, to trust the runner's sharp instincts. Seven years on the run from the Wraith had left Ronon with keen senses, like a great, hulking wolf. For a moment, Ronon seemed to relax, his muscles loosening only ever so slightly, easing the tension in the colonel as well.

The runner shrugged, turning to the encampment once more. "Nothing."

It was only when Ronon took another step back towards the campfire that the mists behind him seemed to curl and waver. Sheppard raised his Walther, but it was a second too late as the mists punched out towards the Satedan and something knocked the big man to the ground. It took a moment for any of them to realize what had happened as a monstrous, shaggy... _thing_ tackled Ronon to the ground with a surprising predatory ease. In the sudden flurry of motion, he had a hard time separating the dreaded head and leather clad body of his comrade from the wild, bristling fur of the creature and the snapping jaws that reached down for the Satedan's face.

"Shit!" Sheppard cursed under his breath as the teeth came within millimeters of Ronon's face.

The Satedan caught the creature by the neck and shoved it back, out of his face. Now that the others could get a look at the giant beast as the warrior continued to struggle to hold it at bay, it looked like nothing more than a massive, muscular canine, large and wild like a wolf. When Ronon adjusted his grip to twist the neck of the snarling, enraged beast, the thing lunged forward, clamping down teeth upon the Satedan's neck and bucking back, ripping and tearing with a ferocious ease and splattering the ground with Ronon's blood. The warrior grunted in pain, gritting his teeth together even as the beast tore back. Sheppard shook off the initial shock, raised his P90, took careful aim, and fired. The beast let loose a high pitched wail and tumbled from Ronon, dashing into the woods once more on unsteady, tottering legs, fleeing to the dark and lonely forests.

The team scrambled into action, drawing close and protectively near to Ronon. McKay kept glancing about wildly through the woods, spinning about without any clear or Teyla immediately rushed to Ronon's side as soon as the beast fled. He looked ashen and almost sickly pale in the soft glow of the trees as blood poured from the fresh wound at his neck. His hand reached up to apply weak pressure, and Teyla pressed down harder upon it to stem the blood flow as best she should.

"How bad is it?" McKay asked in a hushed whisper.

Ronon couldn't resist a faint smirk. "I've..." He swallowed hard, forcing his adam's apple to work. "I've had worse."

"Sure."

"It is a deep gash, and will require sutures, but not life threatening unless we do not get you back to Atlantis and swiftly," the woman noted in a calm, composed voice.

Sheppard ignored the banter, focusing instead of pressing, immediate issues while Teyla bound the wound with a quick and practiced flourish. "Think you can make it to the Gate?"

Ronon closed his eyes, nodded weakly and clambered to his feet. "Not much of a choice, now is there?"

"Not really." Sheppard turned to the meandering deer path they'd followed before making camp, to the direction the wolf had gone running; it did not escape even Ronon's notice that Sheppard did not holster his fire arm. "Teyla, help Ronon. McKay?"

"Way ahead of you as always," the physicist replied as he pulled the LSD from his pocket and scanned the woods before them. "Something big moving away from us, and swiftly." McKay's lips curved in a small smile. "I think you scared it."

"Yeah, but it's still between us and the Gate," Sheppard pointed out flatly. "Let's get moving."

They trudged through the woods as silent as possible, mindful now of the great predator that skulked in the night with them. Sheppard took point, just in case something should pop out from the mists and shadows of the quiet, serene forests of Lothlorien once more, but never straying further than a few yards from his team. Directly behind him was McKay, constantly scanning the land before them for any trace of the beast. Teyla would have liked to shoulder Ronon's weight, but the warrior walked proudly and defiantly, although not as tall as usual. Ronon stumbled along stubbornly.

Sheppard kept an ear open to the forests, blocking out the sound of his friends and team mates behind them. Every forest and every world had a wild song, Ronon had told him once. Right now, there came not a sound, and Sheppard recognized that as a bad sound. Even earlier in the evening, there had been crickets and mild bird song. Now, only silence roared in his ears, the uneasy still of a predator's presence. Sheppard slowed his paces slightly, keeping his pace steady and even to avoid drawing undue attention from the easily started McKay and closing the gap between him and the others. Ronon had only been attacked likely because he had been further from the group. They had to stay close now to discourage whatever the beast had been from coming back for a second helping.

"It's gone," McKay announced behind him. "Whatever it was, it's not anymore."

Sheppard glanced over his shoulder to the others. Rodney showed off the LSD to each of them, displaying only their own life signs in the middle of the woods, along with a few scant, smaller trace signs, most likely birds roosting in the treetops or nocturnal rodents. Teyla smiled sweetly as ever at the injured man beside her before they pressed on through the woods.

Ronon, however, seemed the only one who found no relief in this. The Sateden's dark eyes were still surveying the ground, studying the area and the tiny bits of evidence about them. The big man had always been a natural tracker before his time on the run. The Wraith had only served to sharpen those innate skills with their sadistic hunt. He had spied big tracks in the ground heading in the same direction as they did ages ago, along with the tiniest of crimson droplets. The wolf, or whatever it was, had taken the same exact path as they did towards the Gate, and it did not deviate from that trail. Ronon had noticed Sheppard slow to keep close to the group, just as painfully aware that they could possibly be heading into a hunting ambush if the predator had reinforcements and the intelligence to do so.

However, even Ronon had to admit he felt surprised and relieved when they got back to the Gate without incident, but that relief was short lived when they spied the body. A prone, pale and filthy corpse sprawled within feet of the DHD. It was male, lying faced down on the ground, a single hand reaching for the device. Scars and wounds marred the nude, muscular body. Sheppard knelt cautiously beside the body, feeling for a pulse before turning the corpse onto its back. It was a man, perhaps twenty or thirty years old, his face scarred and missing an ear, but unfamiliar, not anyone that Sheppard had ever met. The rapidly cooling body looked like it had taken one hell of a beating before being shot rather soundly through the neck with a small to mid sized caliber round, definitely not a stunner.

Sheppard sprang to the DHD and dialed. "We're _so _out of here."

xxxx

Keller sutured Ronon's neck and cleared the Satedan for light duty, but nothing strenuous as to open the sutures. The doctor noted the big man running a very low grade fever, but nothing terrible. She drew a culture from the man's blood to check for any number of pathogens that could have been transmitted through the bite, including- but most assuredly not limited to- rabies. Heaven help the doctor if she had to actually deal with something as mundane as that. The big man scowled through the entire medical exam but said little to nothing. Within a week, the wound had sealed to nothing but a pink, raised scar, surprising Keller entirely. The low fever persisted even with antibiotics, but the blood cultures turned up nothing out of the ordinary. Keller was forced to hand over a clean bill of health to Woosley and return the runner to active duty.

Sheppard shrugged it off as he filed his report on Lothlorien. A return survey team had gone through the Gate a day or two later. Their findings concurred with everything the colonel had thought about Lothlorien. A beautiful world, but otherwise uninhabited and of little strategic value. Samples had been taken of the trees, but they were found to be only slightly different from phosphorescent algaes and a rather soft wood of little usage aside ornamental. The return expedition had not found any sign of the predator, all of the tracks and blood having apparently been washed away by a rainshower. There had been no sign of any natives in general, let alone any hostiles. Nor had they found any sign of the body that they had so callously left at the base of the DHD in favor of getting Ronon to medical attention.

Sheppard closed the file and glanced to the white board listing the hundreds of worlds that they had been named over the last year. Lothlorien had been asterisked with a small, hasty, red mark initially after returning, a sort of note to self that the planet had potentially been populated by hostile forces. Without any real need to return to Lothlorien, the asterisk wasn't really necessary now.

"Another day, another planet."

The colonel forwarded his report along with the accompanying documents from the return survey to the SGC. He hated filing paperwork, especially seemingly unnecessary paperwork about a planet they were most likely never going to return to. He sighed, rubbing his temples and checking the clock. More than enough time for light sparring with Ronon, and, judging by the late afternoon light, the Satedan would likely be waiting for him by this point. Ronon always waited for Sheppard on days the big man knew Woosley had saddled the colonel with catching up on field reports, and he knew Sheppard enjoyed taking his frustrations out without having to worry about actually hurting the Satedan.

Sure enough, by the time he changed and got down to their usual meeting place, Ronon was already there, already going through the motions of practicing with his sword in an almost elaborate kata that John had yet to wrap his mind around.

Ronon didn't even look up as he growled, "You're late."

"Got hung up."

The big man whipped about, tossing a mock sword to John without even looking back. Sheppard had been expecting this out of their near daily routine and caught the thing easily. What John had not been expecting was for the warrior to spin about on his heel once more, tossing aside his sword and drawing one of the mock staves without an once of effort. Sheppard barely had enough time to draw his weapon up to block the blow. Ronon swung with an uncharacteristic ferocity, and the colonelcolonel felt every once of it ringing through his muscles as he blocked. Sheppard circled left as Ronon seemed to almost stalk him like a wolf, hunching down on his form and hanging his head. His eyes were dark and feral through his mane of dreads.

This was the game of theirs. Ronon had been teaching Sheppard and McKay for the last year now. Or, rather, Ronon had been tutoring Sheppard; McKay always seemed to find a way to dodge out of training at the last possible minute. The big man would circle to one side, always keeping his eyes on his quarry but always letting them come for him first. Defense was critical, but, to the warrior, if caught in a fight, the most important thing was ending it swiftly with a quick, killing blow. Teyla had been more suited to teaching defense.

When Ronon lunged for him, Sheppard suddenly had the unnerving feeling of being prey cornered by a stalking predator. The Satedan came at him with a sudden speed and a rage that Sheppard had never seen in Ronon before except when he squared off with the Wraith. The first few strikes, John easily dodged or blocked, but, when Ronon came once more, Sheppard's foot caught on the floor awkwardly. The colonel tripped and fell to the ground with a grunt. Normally, this would have garnered a light slap of the staff and a snide comment from the runner about watching his footing, but not this time. This time, Ronon pounced upon the colonel, shoving the leading edge of his mock weapon under Sheppard's chin and pressing hard against the man's throat. Sheppard twisted and writhed, but Ronon shoved him harder onto the floor, pinning his rival combatant.

"Uh..." John coughed, wheezing for air and clawing at the Satedan's shirt with his hand feebly. "You... gonna... let..."

Ronon drew close, so very close that Sheppard could almost feel the heat rising from the Satedan's body. The man sniffed deeply, as though studying the scent of his commanding officer like an animal. Ronon's lip curled slightly, as though baring his teeth. There were dark, mercurial balls dancing across Sheppard's vision as the big man put all of his weight on the staff, but John only saw the feral darkness to Ronon's eyes, eyes that no longer looked human somehow.

"Ron..."

The runner gave a shake of his head, and the predatory rage fell away from him, leaving only confusion behind. The Satedan seemed disoriented. He glanced down at the man beneath him, still struggling for air, and Ronon backed away, letting the staff slip from his grip and releasing his hold of Sheppard. The colonel coughed, sucking down the cool, sweet air, before scrambling back and away from Ronon. The warrior said nothing. Ronon just knelt there, staring down at the ground in silence.

Sheppard rubbed his neck dolefully and hoarsely rasped, "Hey..."

Ronon glanced up, his expression difficult to read. There seemed something there to his eyes, that strange distance that had been there when Ronon first arrived at Atlantis. He opened his mouth, as though to say something, anything, but his jaw snapped shut quickly. The warrior shook his head and rose, striding out without saying another word.

Sheppard furrowed his brow. "Weird."

xxxx

It started in the late hours of the night, klaxon alarms blaring throughout Atlantis while most people were asleep. For many, if not all, of the residents of the city, it was simply an annoyance dragging them from their beds. For every unfortunate member of the expedition to have the ATA gene in any way shape or form, Atlantis spoke to them, humming loudly in their ears. For John Sheppard however, it came as a driving ice pick twisting in the back of his skull as Atlantis its self desperately tried to rouse him to full alertness. He woke up wincing as the city shrieked in the back of his mind.

John stumbled from his bed, snatching up his firearm from his side table and jamming his radio in his ear, tapping it to activate it. "Status report."

"Sheppard, this is Lorne!" a voice shouted back as rifle retort cracked in the background and echoed in the halls. "In pursuit of some... some _thing_..."

"Repeat?"

Lorne barked back, "Just get down here!"

Sheppard ran, now knowing entirely where he was going. That was alright. He followed the sounds of gunfire and the quiet, soothing hum of Atlantis as the city guided him along. The alarms droned in his ears, but Sheppard heard only the city's lulling song. Red lights flashed about him, but he saw them not. It took only a few moments to find the source of the fire fight as the marines advanced into a darkened portion of the city.

"Took you long enough," Lorne snarled over his shoulder as Sheppard drew beside them. He glanced to his own team. "Keep your eyes open. Don't let it get behind us."

Teyla rushed up at Sheppard's side. "Major Lorne, Colonel Sheppard, what is going on?"

A great, piercing howl cut through the city and rattled through anything metallic in Atlantis. It tore through the night as a shadow darted across the corridor. It was large and bulky, covered in shaggy, ebony fur. Sheppard stared in surprise and shock at the pointed snout and dark, feral eyes that turned on the team. Those eyes glittered in the shadows as the hulking creature snarled deeply at them, dropping low on its haunches to charge them, flying along on all fours faster than Sheppard thought possible. The marines opened fire, but the monster just darted in between them, swatting out with a massive paw and sending the soldiers scrambling out of the way of the giant beast. Sheppard trained his pistol on the skulking shadow, but the beast just knocked him clean out of the way as it rushed past them and tore off into the city.

Sheppard cried out, "Follow it!"

The colonel bolted after the beast before anyone else could react. Years of running with Ronon in the morning had left Sheppard in peak condition. He moved with a swift grace, his feet barely making a sound as he charged after the thing. The monster was just a few dozen yards ahead of him, skimming along on all fours with impossibly long strides, swishing a black, bushy tail behind it. If Sheppard didn't know any better, he might have thought it was a werewolf, a real, honest to god werewolf, granted the size and shape, like something ripped right from a B horror movie. Yet, try as he might to catch up with the creature, to catch it, the thing just moved too fast for even Sheppard. It leaned low and into the wind, picking up more speed somehow and putting distance between them. Sheppard slammed to a halt, bringing up his pistol, but, try as he might to shoot it, the thing shot around a corner and out of sight.

Sheppard swore, but it was already gone.

**XXX**

**XXXXX**

**XXX**

**Author's Notes: **Okay, so not as much whump as usual.


	3. Wilting Waltz

**FEAST OF THE SAMHAIN -WILTING WALTZ**

6 years.

72 months.

2,190 days.

52,569 hours.

3,153,600 minutes.

189,216,000 seconds.

Six years was a long time. McKay had explained once that the human mind could not accurately picture numbers greater than a particular magic number, either 4 or 8, depending upon which theory one subscribed to. The physicist had been quick to add the almost ridiculous claim that _he _could accurately and in detail picture up to twelve individual items.

Six years sounded like such a short time, but Ronon Dex knew otherwise.

On Earth, six years was long enough to see a First Man as the first female president took office and ran America rather efficiently. Her term wasn't perfect, by a long shot, but madam president had kept things in order. The economy had steadied its self and made a slight upswing towards her later years. The price of gas did not fall, but she was adamant about encouraging alternative fuel sources with tax breaks that made biodiesel, solar panel installation, and hybrid vehicles gain a very slight increase in popularity to reduce usage. She kept her affairs tidy and in precise order, managing to maintain a personal life, her decorum, and her professional pride. She was up for reelection later that year, in fact.

On the flip side of the feminist coin, six years was also long enough to see a certain heiress make a return trip to court for highly similar charges. However, this time, none of her judges listened to her desperate pleas and pretend illnesses. She served three years as a model prisoner after some initial issues before being released on parole. Her tell-all book was due out in a few months.

In six years, America saw Michael Phelps turn in another powerhouse Olympic performance and take home what seemed an utterly impossible amount of golds before retiring from the public spotlight to raise a modest family.

The only things that six years did not see was an end to the situations in Iraq and Afghanistan, although who really could see an easy end to either muddled affair? More and more young Americans went overseas hoping to help, many coming back seriously injured or unsettled by the things they saw there. Protests were held across the country every few weeks demanding a withdrawal of troops that seemed utterly impossible granted how entrenched the army had become. Some made sense, while other demonstrations seemed utterly devoid of any logic. One group even protested the CNN headquarters in Atlanta, GA, claiming that the Turner company perpetuated the war for ratings.

In the Milky Way, six years was long enough to see a star die, collapsing inward on its self with a final exhalation of fiery death before turning into a black hole. Those few fortunate souls to watch the event had been at the behest of the Asgard as they held a safe position just outside the range of gravitational pull. The honored few had included Major General Jack O'Neill, Colonel Samantha Carter, and Dr. Daniel Jackson. Carter and Jackson had claimed that it had been a beautiful sight. O'Neill argued that it had been agonizingly boring except for a few moments when things "really heated up" before going right back to mind numbingly boring.

In Pegasus, in six years, Torren John Emmagan had gone from a rounded, soft baby to a vibrant young boy. The years had been counted in the inches he shot up, in the words he added to his vocabulary and in the daily smiles his playful antics drew from the other expedition members. The older Torren John got, the further he strayed from Teyla's side, the higher he could climb on all sorts of things that were most likely never intended to be a child's jungle gym but sufficed anyway, and the longer he managed to evade both his mother and his babysitters during hide and seek. Also, the more curious he got, so much so that even Rodney McKay seemed flustered by the boy's natural questioning. It was also long enough time to see Teyla stop saying the boy's middle name unless he were truly in trouble, long enough to spy the silent sorrow to her eyes whenever she thought of his namesake. Teyla always bore a solemn and pained expression when John was mentioned, as though the Athosian had given up any and all hope of finding Sheppard alive.

Six years had seen several different military commanders of Atlantis in the wake of Sheppard's disappearance. First, Colonel Steven Caldwell had assumed command, and no one could argue that he didn't know what he was doing. However, Caldwell's place was at the helm of the _Daedalus_, alongside the crew that truly needed him. After that, the SGC had shuffled a few other hapless soldiers to Pegasus, but none of them truly seemed to be a good fit. Carter had enjoyed a brief return to the leadership of Atlantis, but, as it turns out, she had only returned to help cultivate Major Evan Lorne as commander. It took four years to find a replacement for John Sheppard, and another two for people to almost forget what life had been like under his command.

It had taken six years to scrub all trace of John Sheppard's life clean from Atlantis. His room had been emptied and reassigned, as though he had never really existed. He had been declared MIA for a time before the SGC saw fit to move his name from that list and to the annuls of KIA. There had been a grand military funeral spanning both galaxies through the gate network, complete with requisite twenty one gun salute and both well attended by friends and family save the few people who couldn't bring themselves to go. After a white cross had been placed over an empty grave in his name in Arlington National Cemetery sometime in year four, most people just didn't speak of him anymore.

Six years was long enough to learn to hate yourself in every way possible.

Six years was a long time to wait and search beyond all hope and into the strange, blurred territory of guilt driven obsession, the land that Ronon Dex had occupied for some time now. For those long years, his thoughts had been consumed by one thing, finding John Sheppard. He had searched every possible gate address, followed every tiny clue. It was all he thought about, all he cared about.

"God, John, what happened to you?"

Ronon tried to ignore Dr. Jennifer Keller's concerned, whispered question as he carefully snaked his arms under the crumpled, emaciated body that was once Lt. Colonel John Sheppard and gently scooped him off the cool floor of the Atlantis infirmary. He already had a vague understanding of what had happened over the course of six long years to Sheppard, judging by the condition in which they'd found the colonel, but that did not mean that Ronon was prepared to think about it or acknowledge it, yet. He had seen the feral, panic-stricken look in those once daring and cocky, hazel eyes and watched as Sheppard had wildly lashed out at anyone who drew near. He _still _saw the harsh, sturdy collar that had become so embedded in the man's neck that Keller seemed reluctant to even attempt to remove it just yet for fear of aggravating any further injuries concealed beneath it.

On more than one occasion, every member of Sheppard's team had been forced to shoulder one another after an injury, sometimes while fleeing the Wraith or the Genii. They took care of each other; it was just what team mates and friends did for one another. As such, even despite the passage of time, Sheppard had been quite familiar with what it had felt like to bear Sheppard's weight. This scrawny creature who seemed too pointy, too angular with skin that looked and felt too tight over his bones didn't weigh enough for any healthy human, let alone Sheppard. Ronon could feel each and every bone in the impossibly frail and tiny form, more like a child than a grown man. And there were so many scars, smooth, rounded, and raised under Ronon's fingers, all too apparently in Sheppard's near starved condition.

Ronon very gently laid the unconscious man down upon the gurney, mindful of the obviously shattered left forearm and right ankle, as well as all of the cuts and bruising that patterned Sheppard's flesh in an intricate tapestry of various, sickly shapes of green, purple and yellow. He noted with a pang that new welts began to bloom about the taut rib cage that the Satedan reluctantly had to admit were his own fault from when he attempted to hold Sheppard. He hadn't any other choice, really, but that didn't mean the warrior didn't feel terrible about it. Ronon held his breath as the body went limp on the mattress, afraid of hurting Sheppard anymore than he already had.

"You saved my butt." Dr. Keller nodded to the Satedan awkwardly, as though unsure of what to say and occasionally darting quick, obviously mildly remorseful glances at the empty syringe in her hand from roughly, swiftly sedating the colonel. She swallowed, working to force down the lump in her throat. "Thanks."

Yet the man didn't think he deserved anyone's gratitude. He just shook his head and stepped back to let the doctor do her work, just watching, even as a big hand clamped down on his shoulder. The Satedan turned to see Weylin Canagan-Filtiarn standing at his side, staring at Sheppard, his expression even and almost clinically detached. All these years of searching, and only Weylin had stood by Ronon's side, through thick and thin. In truth, Weylin had known Sheppard the least, having only had a brief, passing acquaintance with the man quite shortly before the colonel went missing. They younger man had tried to explain once, but Ronon didn't care about any explanations. He only cared about finding Sheppard.

Ronon tried to force himself to smile at his seemingly constantly companion of all those years. After all, they had finally gotten Sheppard back. Mission accomplished, and all that. Yet, for however much as Ronon wanted to, he could not bring himself to feel any sort of satisfaction, especially not when he caught the soft, hushed order from Keller to one of her nurses to fetch soft restraints for the colonel, just in case. Instead, Ronon visibly winced at the thought.

Weylin looked down at the floor for a moment. "I should tell her."

Ronon gave a slow nod of his head, returning his gaze to Sheppard. Eventually, the Satedan would have to show his face to her, as well. Certainly, she would want to hear his account of the events of that night to mete out the law and, if necessary, allot any due punishment for his and Weylin's actions. Blood had been spilt that night in Sheppard's name, so very much blood, and there would be repercussions, surely. Oh, yes, Ronon would see her for his due, but in his own time. First, the Satedan had to watch this, as Keller and her army of nurses settled in for the long haul of cleaning and treating the seemingly endless litany of injuries, as his punishment, really.

After all, it was all his fault and no one else's.

xxxx

_Six years earlier:_

They had been searching Atlantis all night and into the morning. After losing the beast in the hall, the colonel immediately called upon all active personnel to meet up and split them into teams to scour the massive city. The divided up as evenly as possible, each team with military escort in case the creature should show its furry face again. He evet Zelenka and McKay on searching the city with its motion trackers, but even Atlantis its self seemed confused by the monster, sometimes sending teams right into one another, as though it couldn't tell the difference between any of the people who had lived there for so long and a monstrous, shaggy beats that defied all explanation and logic.

And, adding to Sheppard's intense annoyance, his own, personal tracker in the form of Ronon Dex seemed to be equally nowhere to be found or reached. Ronon had a sort of wild, untamed streak to him, and, on some nights, the Satedan made himself unreachable, distant by choice. After everything John knew the runner been through, he was more than willing to begrudge the man some personal time to collect his thoughts, to compose himself, or to just be alone, whatever it was that Ronon did when he strayed from human contact for a spell. What John did loathe, however, was Ronon's sense of timing to go reclusive during a time like that when Sheppard needed his unique skills the most. Where it anyone else, Sheppard might have spent the predawn hours looking for him, but John knew, perhaps better than anyone else, that if Ronon didn't want to be found, there was nothing any of them could really do to find him.

After a quick round and a checkin with the teams, Sheppard decided it would be best to curtail the main search and just keep a heightened guard. There was no sense in continuing to frighten the beast into hiding where they would never find it in the vast, sprawling labyrinth that was Atlantis's many corridors, halls, balconies, and ducts. It was a waste of effort. Instead, Sheppard had the guard rotations doubled and instituted a sort of military equivalent of the "buddy system" for all civilian personnel just in case. Woosley was quick to endorse both this plan, along with a curfew for all non-essential personnel that night to keep the city as clear as possible and facilitate any hunt for the intruding beast.

It wasn't until shortly after nine that Sheppard stumbled into the cafeteria and into Ronon, seated across from Teyla and McKay, who both seemed downright disgusted by something. Teyla seemed to be closely guarding her reactions, judging by the look of effort upon her face as she exercised the rather practiced art of diplomatic bearing. However, even from the far end of the mess hall, Sheppard spied the grimaces upon Rodney's and Teyla's equally pale faces. It took a moment, and a few steps closer to the table for Sheppard to see why, noticing the huge plate Ronon had piled high with meat and nothing else, digging into it with his bare hands.

Sheppard recalled how terrible Ronon's table manners had been when the runner first arrived. The Satedan had spent seven years dodging the Wraith, which had done nothing for his graces. He had been used to eating on the fly, scavenging and quickly devouring anything he could find, often without filthy hands and exceedingly rarely with utensils other than a hunting knife or shiv. John shrugged off Ronon's current little relapse, remembering that old habits died hard no matter what galaxy a person hailed from.

The colonel grabbed himself a quick meal and sat beside Ronon at the free seat at the table. "Where were you last night?"

Ronon did not answer right away, merely turning his head to glower through his mane of dreadlocks before grumbling, "Busy."

"Yeah, doing what?" Sheppard pressed, curious at what could have distracted the Satedan from something as exciting as a monster hunt. "Sharpening your claws on something?"

Ronon stiffened, bristling oddly. "Something like that."

"We could have used your help," Sheppard hinted, still very much annoyed at Ronon's attitude and his nonexistence the night before.

The warrior lifted a wary eyebrow to survey the otherwise normal seeming people milling about the cafeteria and going about their lives as usual- or as usual as they could be in the Pegasus Galaxy. "Couldn't have been that bad if we're at business as usual."

Sheppard opened his mouth to say something, but Teyla immediately cut in before he could incite a brawl. "Your tracking assistance would have been a great asset, Ronon."

Ronon made a gruff sound but said nothing. He just continued to dig into his food, keeping his dark gaze fixed upon the plate as thought refusing to meet any of their curious stares. Sheppard furrowed his brow. This wasn't just a small dip back into old habits; this was more like a complete regression to the feral abandon he had seen in Ronon years ago. It wasn't like the Satedan at all.

"There was some sort of a creature," Teyla went on, her words soft and painfully, carefully chosen, staring with wide eyes as Ronon froze and slowly put down whatever he had eating rather firmly upon the plate.

"Could use your help again tonight if it shows its hairy face." Sheppard forced a tired and awkward smile, even as the Satedan lifted his head ever so slightly to fix in him a dark, piercing gaze. "It'll be fun. Just like hunting."

Ronon slammed his plate down onto the table and stood brusquely. "Hunt it your damned self."

And, with that rather strange exchange, Ronon stormed out of the cafeteria. Sheppard glanced to Teyla, his mouth slightly open in a bit of surprise. However, for once, even her diplomacy did not seem to have any answer of what to say or do in this scenario. The colonel shrugged it off.

xxxx

It started in the night once more with screaming alarms and painful twists of ice picks behind John Sheppard's eyes, but this time, he was ready for it. Sheppard hadn't bothered to sleep that night. He had taken a short nap in the afternoon to recharge himself for what was to come. He was ready this time, out and with regular patrols about the city. Sheppard had been making a routine survey of the central complex and the gate control room that had been commandeered as HQ for the hunt, checking in with Rodney and Radek for any sort of clue on the scanners.

A whispered voice crackled over the radio in his ear. "Sheppard, this is Perdue. I have a visual on the creature."

"Where?" Sheppard barked, already in motion, catching his P90 swiftly off a nearby console as he moved.

"East pier. Second level. Central alcove balcony."

"What's it doing?" the colonel inquired curiously.

Perdue didn't answer right away, as though contemplating a choice of words. "It's just... sitting there."

Sheppard nodded, licking his lips. "Teyla, Lorne, respond."

"On my way, Colonel," came Lorne's immediate reply.

Teyla answered not more than a few seconds later. "As am I."

The colonel nodded as he ducked into a transporter to hurry himself along. The east pier spanned several hundred yards, but Perdue had given him a good enough direction for him to catch up in no time using the transporters, and Sheppard knew the spot well. On his predawn runs with Ronon, Sheppard often found the two of them instinctively running in that direction through the gantries, surfacing not far from the alcove as the Lantean sun peaked over a sparkling sea. It was like running to greet the sun and catch the dawn. That particular section of the pier only housed old labs that were seldom put to use, leading Sheppard to believe that Ronon's seemingly intrinsic drift towards that pier to be intentional.

When he did finally spy Perdue's small team, Sheppard broke from his jog to a silent, cautious walk. Perdue, one of the younger and greener arrivals to Pegasus, was at least smart enough to keep his firearm up and trained upon whatever had caught his attention just down the corridor, not even daring to turn his gaze to the approaching colonel. The younger soldier just stared with wide eyes as sweat beaded his pale forehead and as he gave a short, gesturing nod down the hall.

Sheppard carefully leaned slightly out from about the corner and looked down the long expanse of emptiness. At first, his eyes spied nothing out of the ordinary. But, then, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the otherwise uninhabited section of Atlantis, Sheppard spotted something. Just beyond them, outside and on the landing, sat a hulking, furred shadow. It squatted low on unnaturally bent legs, sunk down upon muscular haunches as though ready to leap at a moment's notice right off the edge of the balcony. Its pointed, canine snout pointed up to the heavens, to the moon that drenched its ebony hide in a pale light with a strange, silky gleam. Sheppard couldn't see its eyes, but he knew, from the angle of the head and the neck, that the creature stared up, into the sky and right at the full moon.

Sheppard smirked to himself inwardly with a sniff. _"Vampires in space and werewolves in space. Hollywood, eat your heart out."_

The massive beast started at the soft but sarcastic sound, tension rippling down the muscles of its broad back. Sheppard held his breath now as the creature- which he had now most assuredly mentally dubbed "space werewolf"- stood to its full, and rather imposing height. It did not move, but, even from their distance, the small group of soldiers could hear the low, throaty, and menacing growl it made, almost feel the sound reverberating through the air.

"Colonel Sheppard, I am in position," Teyla breathed on the radio.

It had been but the softest of utterances, meant for his ears only, but one of the oversized, pointed ears flicked back and to the right, pricking at something unseen. Sheppard grimaced as the one ear remained trained upon something to the side while the other ear swiveled back and forth to catch all sound. His eyes caught the subtle increase of respiration to the giant rib cage beneath all that fur as the werewolf drew in deeper, swifter breaths, obviously studying the scents upon the air. It turned ever so slowly, baring a row of neat, sharp, pointed, and all too pearly white teeth in the pale moonlight before letting out a keening howl.

Sheppard gasped when he finally got a good look at the front of the beast. His eyes went wide as the thing took a lumbering step towards him, slightly awkward and ungainly on two legs when it belonged down and on all fours. Those haunting, dark and feral eyes locked upon Sheppard with a strange recognition that shook the colonel to the core.

Teyla took a step forward, thinking that the creature would lunge at Sheppard and rip the colonel's throat clean out. After that, everything happened so fast when the thing took its first long stride towards them, pitching its upper body down and onto meaty forelimbs designed for speed. Perdue was already in motion, taking aim for the head. Sheppard just blinked in shock, but his body moved outside of his control. He threw himself in Perdue's line of fire, spreading his arms out like a human shield.

"HOLD YOUR FIRE!"

Sheppard thought the creature might bolt right into him as he saw it duck one shoulder down, thought it might just barrel him over. Yet, the beast tucked and dodged to its left, directly towards the silhouetted form that could only be Teyla. It came swooping towards her to sweep past, but the Athosian moved too quickly, her P90 following the werewolf as it bolted towards her to sneak past.

"TEYLA, NO!" Sheppard roared, but she hadn't heard him.

The P90 cracked in the hall, illuminating the corridor in small spurts of blaring light to accompany the almost deafening report of the weapon. The beast yelped as a bullet grazed its shoulder as it came screaming towards Teyla, jaws snapping. Sheppard felt his own arms come up on their own according, aiming as the beast swung out a monstrous forelimb towards Teyla. There was an odd instant when Teyla's own eyes went wide, as though she saw what Sheppard had saw as well in the unusual creature, in its shaggy but somehow orderly mane and the things that hung dangling about its misshapen-ly elegant neck. Then, the woman was flying as the beast kept moving past. The beast knocked Teyla back and soundly into a wall before darting out of sight once more.

Sheppard rushed to her side, immediately checking her head for any injuries as she stared up with him in wonder. "Are you okay?"

"I am uninjured." Teyla shook her head as she turned her sight down the hall where the great beast had run off in a hurry. "It is Ronon."

The colonel swallowed and nodded. He had seen it as well. The mane had not been just a ball of fluff as Sheppard had thought the previous night. It had been an array of dreadlocks in assorted sizes and widths, all mussed somehow by whatever had happened to him to turn him into such a creature. About the beast's neck hung a leather cord with white, pristinely cleaned Wraith teeth, a trophy Sheppard had known only to belong to one man. And, suddenly, the small altercation at breakfast all made sense now. There was no question in his mind at all; whatever that thing was, it was Ronon underneath it all.

"I know," John simply and rather flatly replied, feeling the weight of the situation bearing down squarely upon him as he looked up and out the windows to the silvery light of the moon.

Teyla's gaze drifted from Sheppard to the crimson splattered across Atlantis's otherwise pristine floors, Ronon's blood. "I shot him."

Sheppard sighed once more. "I know."

**XXXX**

**Author's Notes: **A.) Thanks for kind reviews.

B.) I promise, you'll find out more about the whole Dog/ Sheppard thing.

C.) I'm not begging or anything like that (okay, maybe I am), but did you know I feed off of reviews like a life-sucking Wraith of ? So, if you love it, hate it, just want to gripe about the price of tea in China or gas in the US, etc, click on the review button and leave us a note.

Now, I'm off to go study for a bio exam.


	4. Midnight Masque

**FEAST OF THE SAMHAIN - MIDNIGHT MASQUE**

Dr. Jennifer Keller had seen many horrible things in her time in the Pegasus Galaxy, but never anything that made her felt so utterly sickened. The doctor felt torn between the sudden and dire urge to either curl up and cry or just vomit up everything she had in her when she saw the tiny, fragile body that Ronon and Weylin had brought back to her infirmary. It was just... just too much to handle at once seeing it up close, and she gagged, partially from the sight and partially from the overwhelming stench of human filth.

At first, when Ronon and Weylin came bolting to her from the gate room, the Satedan carried the huddled up, naked body, Keller had thought they had brought home a corpse. Sheppard had looked absolutely broken and so deathly pale even under a rather thick layer of caked dirt, dried crusts of blood, among other substances she didn't care to recognize at the moment. His skin hung tightly over his frame, so very taut that Keller imagined she could actually see the fractures under the skin. His face seemed drawn and hollow somehow, his eyes sunken in and dark. There were deep contusions and gashes here and there, many infected, raw, and angry. The frequency, severity, and obviously varying age of the wounds suggested multiple and rather abusive beatings over the course of a extended period, a theory confirmed by the sheer breadth of scars covering Sheppard's body, including a particularly nasty one that ran down the right side of his face from his forehead to just below his cheekbone and over the eye. His hand dangled limply at his side, the wrist dark and crooked in an all too unnatural way, matched only by his mangled ankle. The only thing that confirmed that Sheppard lived on was the almost imperceptible motions of his breaths and the fevered heat that rose from his body.

Keller, along with many of the other citizens of Atlantis, had fantasized about John Sheppard coming home one day for a time after he vanished. It was McKay's fault; he constantly fed her the same line over and over again that, if the Wraith couldn't kill John Sheppard for as hard as they tried, nothing could. She had often pictured him walking through the gate on his own two feet. The first few weeks, despite the story Teyla had confided in her, the doctor had imagined John with perhaps a few cuts and scraps here and there, maybe some minor injuries to be treated, but nothing major. After a month or so, Keller's own overactive imagination began to add wounds here and there, some minor, some slightly serious, but never anything too life threatening. Yet, no matter how much time passed, no matter how she pictured it, the woman always imagined Sheppard would come home on his own power, usually trying to argue his way out of the near guaranteed one way ticket to her infirmary for at the very least a check-up. It was only until some time in his second or third year missing did Keller stop thinking about Sheppard coming back at all.

Reality, however, smacked the doctor right in the face when Ronon laid Sheppard out on one of her gurneys and she finally got a good look at him, that, after whatever it was the colonel had gone through over the course of six years, there had never been a chance of the man just walking home on his own two feet. He had been held and well, judging by the not-so-subtle clues presented to her, including the rings of scarring and raw flesh about both of his wrists and ankles where Sheppard had obviously struggled and fought against some sort of cuff, rope, or other restraint. There were larger, puckered and raised burn scars running down his upper arms in shapes and symbols that Keller could not distinguish but distantly reminded her of the brands of livestock, claiming ownership in a grizzly and brutal manner.

And, then, there was the collar. The very sight of it sent shivers through Keller when she saw it. The thing was made of steel, perhaps two sizes too small for the colonel. It dug into his neck, embedded there in the flesh. Blood and pus oozed from beneath it, but, even through that, Keller could see more scars there.

She had been in the middle of a cursory examination when Sheppard had launched himself from the bed and into the wall, quivering with an almost palpable terror. Keller had tried to speak reassuringly to him, to calm her abused patient, but Sheppard had lashed out, throwing himself at the woman with a ferocity that surprised her. Her heart wrenched at the memory, to realize that there had been no recognition in those wild, hazel eyes as the colonel came for her, teeth snapping. Fortunately, Ronon had caught him and held him, and Keller was rather reluctantly forced to sedate Sheppard for the rest of her examination. She set in for a long haul with her nurses after that, the incident fresh in her mind so much so that Keller sent for soft restraints for everyone's safety, no matter how much it pained her to do it.

Keller glanced over her shoulder after a time, while two of her nurses very gently began to clean Sheppard. Weylin had left at some point, most likely to report back with his lady, but Ronon remained. The burly Satedan had his arms folded across his chest and a blank expression plastered across his face as he watched distantly. Ronon seemed almost emotionally shut down as he stared, and Keller knew why. She could see it without even really having to look. She had seen it every time Ronon and Weylin came walking into her infirmary sporting a variety of their own injuries as one of their search missions ended poorly. Her gaze drifted over the runner for a moment, spying a jagged bite upon his left shoulder and his own series of cuts and slashes that likely mirrored some on Weylin that had slipped her notice.

She paused for a moment in her ministrations to put a soft smile for the Satedan and nod in the direction of his bloodied arm. "You're hurt."

"It's nothing," the warrior gruffly replied with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders.

Keller frowned oddly. "Don't say that." She pointed to a free gurney as she pulled off her plastic gloves. "Park it over there so I can take a look at it in a second." When Ronon did not move, did not tear his stare from Sheppard's prone body, the doctor hesitantly reached to put a hand on his arm, only to have him jerk away; she blinked. "It'll be alright. _He'll _be alright."

But Ronon didn't say anything.

xxxx

Dog did not dream.

He had dreamt, once before, long ago. Dog used to dream every night when he curled up in the back of his cages on the hard floors. He used to dream about flying, soaring through the clouds and screaming through the heavens. He used to dream about running, letting his strides take him into infinity through halls and corridors that did not belong to his masters. But those dreams had melted away many years earlier, leaving behind a cold emptiness when Dog slept. The first time it had happened, Dog thought he may have been mildly concerned, but, the longer time wore on without dreams, the more and more their absence seemed a small mercy upon him.

Even if he could have, he did not dare to dream anymore. Hopes and dreams weren't meant for creatures like Dog. His masters dictated Dog's existence, and by their whim alone did he live or die. Dog had given up on dreaming many years before we he learned that there was just no sense in putting any energy into it. No matter how hard he tried, no matter what he did, Dog would never be free, and dreaming of such was just such misery, dragging him deeper and deeper into an endlessly spiraling depression. Dog just didn't bother.

Dog awoke slowly once more, but he somehow felt more tired if such a thing were possible. His head and body felt heavy, and his mind flooded with a disorientation that unsettled Dog. He felt drowsy and drugged. His breath hitched as Dog glanced wildly about to survey his surroundings only to realize that this was not his usual cell, nor the training pit. The pit and the cells had been hewn and built of old, gray stone, while this place looked like it had been built of elegant metal, glass, and bubbling tubes. Soft sunlight poured in through colored glass, rippling like water on the ceiling in a rainbow instead of the dim, orange glow of the burning lanterns of the cells with their plumes of choking, black smoke.

Dog noticed something strange. He could no longer feel the crushing pressure of the collar about his neck. Someone had removed it. Dog looked down to survey himself. Someone had taken the time to wash him and manipulate his broken body into an oversized, white shirt- the first real article of clothing Dog had worn in a long time. Whoever it was had placed him in a warm, soft bed and pulled a blanket over him, but Dog could still see the unusual shape of a hard, plaster cast encasing his lower right arm and another about his ankle. He could feel the many bandages crisscrossing his body and the tug of fresh sutures even when he moved ever so slightly. Something tickled at the back of his mouth, and Dog took heed of the tube that had been inserted up his nose and down his throat. Dog's stomach flip flopped and threatened to revolt on him at the thought.

_Another vet._

Dog jumped, trying to force his battered body to move once more, to bolt and run for freedom, but something held tight to him. The blanket fell slightly away, offering a better view of whatever gripped him so, even over the solid cast. Dog glanced down as he tensed against whatever held him but found it refused to let loose. Heavy, leather manacles lined with a creamy fleece wrapped about both his wrists and ankles, locking to the thick bands that threaded underneath him, holding him down. Dog choked back a desperate sob as he tugged against the restraints but found no give in them, fighting to the point of exhaustion as his broken body betrayed him. His mind reeled with the thousands of things his masters could have done to him or might do with him bound so. Nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. He sagged back in defeat; if they wanted to do something to him now, there was absolutely no way Dog could stop it even if he dared.

"Colonel Sheppard?"

That voice again. The woman he had snapped at. Dog blinked in surprise in her direction as she approaching slowly from the right, on his relatively blind side. When her watery image came within a few feet, Dog threw his weight to the left and away from her, but the restraints would not give. He only managed to move perhaps a few inches away from her. Dog's heart thundered in his ears as he gasped for air.

This was it. Whatever they were going to do it would be now. Now that he was awake to feel and to react, they would come with their flashing scalpels and stabbing needles to do unspeakable things to him once more. Dog squeezed his eyes shut. The last time, they had made him watch as they stole his voice away. He didn't want to watch anymore, didn't want to feel it, didn't want to wake up once more to find another little piece of himself missing. His body trembled as Dog tried to hold back his tears and brace himself for whatever was to come.

"It's alright, Colonel. You're home and you're safe. I promise," the woman began with the litany of lies once more.

Dog shook his head, biting down hard on his lip until the fresh taste of copper graced his tongue, blocking it out. No more lies. He couldn't bear to believe or to trust anymore. Trust only meant leaving ones self open for betrayal. As soon as he trusted these people, as soon as he put his faith in them, they would turn on him, hurt him worse than any other master could.

"I'm sorry about the restraints," the woman went on just as carefully. "We were afraid... that you would hurt yourself or someone else."

Dog could have laughed if his vocal cords could make the appropriate sounds or if he knew his rude behavior wouldn't have earned him yet another beating. Of course this was just another game of theirs. How could Dog hurt one of the masters? He had been broken and beaten. Even if Dog could dredge up some energy and some fight left to him, they had taken everything from him. He had no defiance anymore. Just a sad resignation to the life he had been alloted. How could a master think Dog had the ability to hurt anyone anymore unless it was just another one of the games, the tricks they liked to play on Dog.

A hand graced his arm, and Dog twisted away from the contact, finding himself staring up into her wide eyes as she breathed, "I'm sorry."

Dog panted, sucking on air as though unable to catch his breath. He shivered in tortuous, almost convulsive shudders as fear raced through him and adrenaline burnt through his veins. His every nerve screamed in pure, raw terror. His vision swam as his muscles clenched, bracing for whatever these new strangers would do to them.

"Colonel Sheppard?" She furrowed her brows and scrunched her face in concern. "Colonel, I need you to calm down. Take a deep breath. You need to take it easy. Easy, easy."

But Dog couldn't. He couldn't relax and calm down, not when these people had him trussed up and bound worse than his previous master. Who knew what they had in mind for him now? Dog panicked, his sight flickering about as the world spun about him and as he tried to search out some way to get out of there.

"I'm just going to give you a little something to help you calm down and sleep," the woman finally resolved.

He watched her as the woman turned to move away before loading a syringe with some sort of a clear liquid before approaching again. Dog felt his chest cramp down upon himself as his heart hammered against his ribs. This was _definitely _it now. The woman held the needle out to him, the tip gleaming in the light. Dog stared in wide-eyed horror at the thing as she approached slowly. But, then, she injected it into a clear, white tube with a practiced grace instead of stabbing it into his arm or hip as the other vets had.

Dog felt himself relax ever so slightly, but that melted away when he saw the look upon her face and felt the warmth flush into his veins. The woman was smiling, practically beaming down upon him. Dog's eyes darted to the clear tube and followed it down, over the blankets and to his own arm, where one of the many IV needles burrowed under his skin. Dog shook and tried to wrench his body away from it, to tear the needle from his arm once more and keep anymore of it from trickling into his body. It took Dog a moment to realize his body jerked in small, painful and lurching sobs as he cried, hot tears scalding down his cheeks.

"Shhh." A hand rested gently upon his forehead as his vision grayed, and her serene voice crooned into his ear as consciousness stole away from him. "Just sleep, Colonel. You need your rest now."

xxxx

_Six years earlier:_

The next morning, when the glittering rays of the Lantean sun sparkled over the waters of the vast oceans and danced across the gleaming, silver spires of the city, all members of the Atlantis expedition were accounted for but one. Ronon Dex was nowhere to be found. Sheppard and Teyla had followed the blood trail as far as it led, but, when all signs of Ronon's trail vanished, both were forced to concede that the runner likely drew upon his survival instincts to conceal all trace of himself.

Now that Sheppard knew who the beast was, he had a plan of attack. The colonel kept Rodney and Radek on scanning the city for his subcutaneous transmitter or radio, but the runner had been careful to remove and stow both in his personal quarters. Sheppard curtailed all gate transit, posted guards at all transporter units, and canceled any nonessential activities, putting all the civilian personnel on a stringent lockdown to the central tower of the city for their own safety. After that, Sheppard set up search parties and divided up the city into grids, all hunting for the Satedan with orders to capture alive and unharmed if possible. Atlantis was a large city, but Sheppard intended to search it room by room until they found Ronon - or whatever he had become - and subdued him.

However, when the sun began to sink below the western horizon did it finally begin to hit Sheppard at how daunting of a task this really was. Ronon was a trained soldier by nature, a "specialist" in the Satedan military, as the runner had called his rank. And, after that, seven years on the run from the Wraith had only served to hone his survival instincts and unique skills to a fine precision. Ronon was the only person Sheppard had known in his life that could just disappear in plain sight, whether in the wilds or in a crowded city sprawl. An injury would only serve to heighten his distrust and force Ronon deeper into hiding, and Atlantis held miles upon miles of places that the Satedan could be skulking about.

Reluctantly, Sheppard was forced to admit to Woosley in the twilight of night that there was a chance that he felt it might be best to get any civilian personnel to the mainland and off the city for the night. Surprisingly, Woosley agreed and personally oversaw the mass exodus of the city via puddle jumpers. By the time full dark settled over Atlantis, only military personnel, Teyla, Dr. Keller, and Rodney remained on the city-ship, all ready and armed to find Ronon.

They moved quickly now, dispersing into the city to search grid by grid.

It would be a long night ahead.

xxxx

Rodney McKay watched the tiny dots that represented each of the members of the Atlantis expedition currently engaged in the search for Ronon as they slowly and methodically spread out from the center of the city and the command center fashioned from the commandeered gate controls. As the teams progressed and called out secure rooms and sectors, Rodney would shut them down and lock out access from there until they narrowed down the places the Satedan could be hiding. Then, all they had to do was corner Ronon.

He smiled to himself slightly; this should all be over in a few hours knowing Sheppard. In fact, the physicist wouldn't have been surprised if the colonel had this whole sordid affair wrapped up by morning. It wasn't until McKay heard a deep and throaty growl behind him that the impression of how relatively easy this all should have been drained from Rodney along with the color from his face. Shivers ran down his spine as the low sound thrummed through his bones.

xxxx

"You didn't know."

Teyla sighed heavily as John continued with the argument. Sheppard had been trying for the better part of an hour and through two grid sweeps. His persistence did not help at all. If anything, it only made Teyla feel worse.

"I shot him," Teyla wearily yet flatly restated for perhaps the hundredth time.

Sheppard shrugged before checking around a corner and finding nothing before checking off the room on his map. "You didn't know."

"Ignorance is no excuse for impulsion, especially when there are as dire of consequences as we may be facing," the Athosian answered in a detached way. "Ronon may be bleeding out as we speak."

"Eh, I think someone would have found the big furball by now if that was going on," Sheppard deadpanned in jest before nodding to himself and tapping his radio. "Rodney, this is Sheppard." When there came no immediate answer, Sheppard called again. "Come in Rodney." Again, there was no answer, and the colonel found himself more than mildly annoyed. "Rodney, quit messing around and come in."

He noticed Teyla out of the corner of her eye as she checked her radio and heard her own voice echoing in his ears. "Rodney?"

Sheppard shook his head and spun about on his heel. "Lorne, come in?"

"Yes, sir?" came in the instant reply.

"We've got a problem. Meet me at command," Sheppard barked as he continued on, Teyla at his side even as the colonel picked up a swift run.

"Right away."

The colonel ran down the halls and corridors at breakneck speed until he and Teyla burst into the control room. For once, the place was silent and still as the grave. Even before the city had been evacuated this time, Sheppard had only ever seen that place so completely quiet and empty twice before. Once, when they first arrived in Atlantis, and the second time during the storm. Ever since then, there had always been at least a few people posted on guard there to keep an eye on things while the rest of the city slept soundly, trusting that they were safe. But, now, it was dark and barren. There was faint light from the consoles, but not enough to truly illuminate the room, casting eerie shadows across the walls.

"McKay?" Sheppard whispered into the shadows.

A low growl rumbled in a distant corner, just as Lorne and his team drew up behind the colonel. Instinctively, all of the soldiers went to the ready, stunners and sidearms drawn and training on the darkness that spread before them. Sheppard tensed, suddenly wondering where the physicist had gotten off to, if he had met a cruel and grizzly fate to those sharp teeth and claws lurking just out of sight.

"Rodney?"

There came a hushed rasping sound of feet jerking back, accompanied by a breathed answer. "Under here."

Sheppard furrowed his brow and forced his eyes to focus in the dim lighting. Sure enough, now that he looked closer, the colonel could make out a vague, relatively man-shaped form huddled under one of the desks. As McKay's tensed body loosened for a moment, his foot slipped out from under the security of his hiding spot, and the physicist jerked back, holding himself tightly about the knees and clenching his every muscle.

"Where is Ronon?" Teyla inquired softly and matter-of-factly.

The growl rumbled in the dark once more, and McKay flinched again. "That answer your question?"

Sheppard nodded to himself. "Just stay put, Rodney."

"Oh, believe me, I had _zero_ intentions of moving," the physicist snapped back.

Sheppard gestured with a sweep of his hand to the team for them to enter the room. The moved together as one, circling and flanking, keeping their backs to the door as they began to sweep the control room and block the main exit back into the city at the same time. The growls went oddly silent as the soldiers advanced. In the darkness ahead of them, Sheppard's keen sight caught motion, as a shadow detached its self from the rest of the inky darkness and shifted slightly.

"Ronon?" he called at the unsteady, dark silhouette. "Ronon, come on out now."

The shadow froze and stiffened for a moment. For that tiny instance, Sheppard thought the Satedan, or whatever his friend had become, actually planned on listening to him and following orders. Then, without warning, the mighty creature bolted, dodging neatly past Sheppard and leaping out, over the balcony to the base of the gate. Sheppard whipped about just in time to see the wolfish thing land easily on the ground on four legs before standing on two to his full height and lifting its head to the sky to let out a great, piercing howl. The lumbering creature slunk back, drawing away from them ever as it bared its pointy, white teeth.

Sheppard moved without thinking, throwing himself down the stairs after the Satedan as the soldiers rushed behind him. He heard the click of several weapons being readied in a heartbeat as booted feet thundered behind him. But Sheppard put himself between the creature that had once been Ronon and the soldiers once more, understanding now somewhere in the back of his mind now that he had seen those wide, predatory eyes. They spread along the balcony and the stairs, all taking aim. Even Teyla and McKay were among them, with their stunners drawn.

"No! No!" Sheppard swept his head frantically from side to side. "Stand down! Put your weapons down!" Sheppard glared, even as the soldiers stood motionless, their stunners still aimed at the creature behind the colonel. "That's an order."

"You can't be serious, sir," Lorne called.

"I am _very _serious, Major. Do it,and do it now."

Slowly, and exceedingly reluctantly, guns and stunners alike were aimed at the floor, but not holstered. The colonel tried to ignore the fact that safeties weren't currently being snapped into place. Instead, Sheppard felt his heart flutter at the small victory before returning his attention to the creature. The wolf stared at him with cautious eyes, having not stopped growling the entire time. Yet the creature did not move, nor raise a single claw. So, as long as no one made any sudden or foolish motions, Ronon included, no shots needed to be fired and no one needed to be hurt.

Sheppard kept his voice as low and as calm as possible as he addressed the creature. "Hey..." The monster took a small, nervous half-step forward, towering over the colonel; John drew a deep breath and swallowed hard before trying his luck any further. "...Buddy?"

The beast made an odd, wolfish crooning noise as though in its own form of approval. Its dark eyes seemed to hold a recognition there underneath it all. The massive thing took another step forward, out of the shadows now and into the moonlight that spilt down through the windows and before the gate. It came close to Sheppard now, well within the range of its long arms. Now that the monster had stepped into the light, there was no question at all. This was most assuredly Ronon, somewhere underneath all that fur and teeth.

The colonel nodded to himself before whispering the name. "Ronon?"

The wolf threw back its head and let out a howl. It was not predatory, nor angry. Instead, it sounded sad more than anything else, pained somehow. John wondered exactly what thoughts were going through Ronon's head at that moment, if there was any human consciousness left at all. He fought to banish any and all thoughts of the potential hunger that Ronon might be feeling considering the rather menacing looking teeth the creature sported, focusing on the fact that it _was _Ronon, somewhere in there, even if that part of the being wasn't entirely in control of his actions. The colonel reached out hesitantly, stretching out his hand and slowly reaching for the wolfish being, holding tight to that thought even as he drew within biting range, ignoring his other mental flights of fancy racing through his mind of alien rabies to think only of the sorrowed expression he thought he saw in those dark eyes.

At first, nothing happened, nothing big at least. Those massive brown eyes of the furred animal merely shifted back and forth, scanning the troops before settling back on Sheppard. They seemed haunted somehow. Yet, Sheppard oddly thought this to be a good thing; it meant there was still something human in there. The air grew thick with a palpable tension, as all eyes fell upon the wolf, waiting for it to make the next move.

And, it did. Sheppard saw the eyes close ever so slightly as Ronon bowed his canine head towards the hand. There was a small moment where nothing happened again, as an instinctive distrust reared its self in Ronon. Then, he took a sudden step forward, too fast for anyone's taste, Sheppard included. The colonel jumped back and away from the wolf, startling it as he tripped and fell backwards over himself.

However, it had been too much. The tension about the soldiers snapped in a heartbeat with the first stunner bolt. Sheppard couldn't tell who fired first, but their aim was dead on, hitting Ronon on his shaggy, upper chest. The beast snarled, showing those rows of jagged teeth. Those eyes fell bitterly once more upon Sheppard as the colonel clawed back on the ground. The beast that had once been Ronon advanced closer, taking another shot to his shoulder as he charged.

Sheppard moved swiftly. It was so simple. He had done it so many times in his life in so many worse situations that his body moved of its own accord. His training kicked in before his emotions could super-cede it.

Inhale.

Fire.

Exhale.

When his mind cleared and the barking shouts silenced about him, the massive wolf lie sprawled upon the ground, unconscious and sleeping, almost peacefully so. But Sheppard knew that wouldn't be the case when Ronon awoke.

**XXXX**

**Author's Notes: **Okay, so, here's the deal. I'm trying to rush stuff to you guys because I have to make an emergency road trip (long story). So, you might have to wait a week or so for a new update.

As always, the evil-life-sucking-space-vampire-in-me loves your reviews!


	5. Leader of the Pack

**FEAST OF THE SAMHAIN - LEADER OF THE PACK**

".... temp's still rising...."

"... too high..."

"... infection..."

Dog awoke slowly once more, tensely, to hushed voices murmuring about him in a dreamy and distant, fevered haze. There world about his existed only in a watery blur as fuzzy shapes in white drifted around him, offering Dog little to focus on save the barely audible whispers that begged his ears to strain to hear. He tried not to listen, to ignore the false pretenses of caring and compassion. Dog didn't want to hear it. Not again. He just wanted to lie there in a half-doze, letting the creeping tug of sleep take him again without knowing what these people were plotting to do to him next.

".... to do something..."

One of the blobs in the fog spoke with a sort of desperation it sounded, pleading with the other vague shapes that continued to drift amid the colors about him. It was a female voice, sharp but even. It sounded strained, as though containing unspent emotions. Dog turned his head to that shape, focusing slightly on the rich, coppery colored blur as he blinked to try to clear his vision. The female must have noticed, for he felt the oddly disconnected sensation of warmth about his frozen, shivering hand as she took it in hers. Dog jerked, instinctively flinching away from the contact.

"... risky..."

The other female voice, younger and exhausted by the sound of it, hovered on Dog's right side, his blind side. Dog twisted slightly from it, his body sluggish and uncoordinated even with the restraints. Tremors raced down his spine from both the fevered cold and the sudden, icy realization that they were keeping him drugged. His breath hitched as his chest tightened, but whatever they had given him refused to let the panic take hold of his body as much as it gripped his heart and mind.

"... shhh..."

Most of the vets that had taken care of Dog over the years had ignored him and treated the pathetic, sniveling creature either with indifference or an air of scorn and deserved disgust. The vast majority never spoke directly to him, taking over him like the animal he was, not that Dog cared. In fact, he often preferred not to hear what their intentions were. More often then not, they were awful.

A pale, milky shape like fresh cream settled before Dog's vision as whoever it was leaned in to him as a hand squeezed his hand again. "Colonel Sheppard, I need you to listen carefully. Can you do that?"

Dog shut his eyes tightly, feeling a hot tear roll down his cheek. He didn't want to listen. What didn't they understand? What did it matter if Dog listened or not? They were going to do to him whatever they wanted no matter how hard he cried, no matter how loud he screamed, no matter how close to death they pushed him. Dog no longer had a say in his life. Asking him to listen, to pay attention and to acknowledge their intentions only made it worse. Dog shuddered, pulling feebly at the restraints as he sobbed.

One of the last vets had been so sadistic as to do the same. It had been an elderly man with peppery gray hair atop his head, speckled like downy snow. The vet had reminded Dog of a man he had once known but no longer remembered completely. He had spoken to Dog in a caring tone as his assistants strapped down Dog, restraining him like he was now. He kept it up, droning in Dog's ears the entire time in a warm, macabrely friendly tone of voice even as his sharp, gleaming knives sliced through Dog's neck and into his throat with a meaty crunch of penetration. Although Dog could not recall what the man had been saying to him, he remembered that tone of voice, that false compassion, even under the sound of his own shrieks and howls of pain as they turned into liquid gurgles as the vet took his voice from him before blessed unconscious stole the world away.

A warm thumb brushed the tear from his cheek tenderly; the tanned female spoke with a serene and calming tone. "Shh.... everything is alright, John. We only wish to help you."

Scalding tears poured down his cheeks. It was a lie. It was always lies. He didn't know what it was they would do to him this time, but it would be something horrible. it always was.

"John, we need to get your temperature down. It's too high. Even for you."

There was something strange to the way the female said that as she explained, something this side of actual concern and, perhaps, remorse.

Dog closed his eyes for a moment, just long enough to try to refocus his addled mind, and felt a sharp prick and a momentary cool flush in his veins. When he opened them, the pinkish form slipped away from him while another big, tanned form came closer. He felt hands upon him, tugging and pulling ever so slightly at his wrists and ankles before his heavy and casted wrist was placed upon his chest and the burly, tall creature reached down and scooped him up in muscular arms. His mind slipped slightly as he was lifting him free of the bed and the leather cuffs that had held him so. The scent of the hunt, the musk of the wild its self poured into Dog's nostrils, overpowering even the caustic antiseptic stench of the infirmary about him. He struggled to force his body to cooperate now that it was free from its shackles, but whatever they had put into him dulled everything, made it hard to move and to fight. The most Dog could muster was a pathetic scratching at the big man's chest with limp and barely responsive fingers on his good hand.

He blinked furiously, trying to keep his ever drooping eyes open long enough to at least see where they were taking him, long enough to follow the motion into another room of subtle blue and green shades. It wasn't easy. Whatever they had injected into him held him with an intoxicating pull, dragging him back to sleep. Dog didn't want to sleep, not then. He clung to consciousness as they took him to a stark, clean room with a drain in the floor.

For a moment, the big man just set Dog down on a cold, metal chair, and Dog thought, perhaps, that this was it, the death he'd been wanting for so long. The room smelt sterile and clean. The walls were a muted blue color that faded with the shapes about him. The hands were back upon him, stripping the thin gown from his body and putting it aside to save for some other pathetic creature that would follow him. Below his feet was a drain, likely for the blood, he rationalized. As Dog studied the room intently, using the focus to stay awake and aware, he noted in the back of his mind how easy it would be to clean up in there after whatever they did to him before disposing of his body. It was an irrational thought, really, to think that they might have just ended it then, but death was the only left for Dog to hope for anymore.

Those big arms lifted Dog up again, and he left his eyes drift closed for but a moment before the deep, pressing cold swallowed him up. Dog's eyes snapped open, finding himself in a big, steel tub of frigid water. His teeth chattered loudly as his body shivered violently. The cold stole his breath away, making each rasped inhalation a struggle.

And, still, those voices spoke to him, crooning in his ears as the icy water swirled about him.

"... shh.... it's alright Colonel...."

Dog twisted in the grip of the strangers who held him, wanting nothing more than to wrench himself from the icy water as the cold bit into him. However, there wasn't any strength left to him, not enough fight in him left to break free. Instead, Dog ended up succeeding in doing nothing more than splashing the chilled water all over the floor and his assailants. He clenched his teeth tightly against the cold.

"... be calm, John...."

A palm graced his forehead, as though trying to calm him, but Dog turned his head away and out from under it, revolted by it. The contact fell away.

"... it's alright...."

Dog blinked at those words, as bile rushed up into the back of his throat and his stomach threatened to turn on him. He sank down into the water, slightly, startled by it. Nothing was alright, especially now in water that felt so cold it almost burnt. He thrashed violently beneath the water, or as violently as he could, while the lights flickered overhead like lightning. Massive, strong hands pressed down upon his shoulders, holding him in the arctic tub.

".... calm down...."

"... we're going to help you..."

Dog couldn't contain himself any longer. He screamed and cried out in agony against the cold until his throat felt raw and ragged and until he had nothing left in him to scream. He shrieked and writhed beyond that until the black of the drugs and the crushing cold overtook him once more. It didn't matter. They couldn't hear it anyway; Dog did not have a voice anymore.

The last thing he heard was a low rumble in his ears. "You didn't give up on me. I'm not giving up on you."

xxxx

_Six years earlier:_

At dawn, Ronon shifted back.

At least, that was the polite way everyone unfortunate enough to witness the transformation called it. The burly Satedan in all his fur had been taken down to the infirmary, heavily sedated and restrained while the medical team drew blood and other fluids, running all sorts of tests upon him. However, as soon as dawn broke, that muscular, furred body began to change and reform. Bones popped in sickening jolts as joints took a more human face. The fur pelt seemed to retract back into Ronon. However, the worst of it was watching those jowls reform and shift into the face Sheppard had grown accustomed to seeing after all that time. Despite the sedation, it must have been agony, as the Satedan let out a venting howl before slumping back in a human shape. The sound rattled through Atlantis and down everyone's spines, but, when it was over, the nude Satedan slept soundly and almost peacefully.

But the colonel and Teyla had been granted front row seats for the event. Keller had insisted on keeping Ronon in isolation from the infirmary, and Sheppard had agreed, posting guards. Despite that, neither Sheppard nor Teyla seemed able to do anything but watch as the Satedan was ministered to from the observation room overhead. They had seen every gut-wrenching moment of Ronon's transformation back to a human shape.

They had heard Keller's report of things. There wasn't anything physically _wrong _with Ronon. His slight fever from after the incident at Lothlorien persisted, but it was nothing to be too terribly concerned with and remained well within safe limits. She had tested for viruses and started cultures, but none of that seemed to be a cause for what had happened to him. She had found and unusual protein marker on his blood samples, but nothing in the database suggested anything to cure it. Sheppard and Teyla had pointed out the creature that had bitten Ronon on Lothlorien, and Keller had agreed that, if they could capture one, bring a sample back, anything, there might be more she could do. Keller and Lorne were arguing going back to the planet with Woosley at that moment.

"My people tell stories of creatures like the one Ronon has become," Teyla whispered absently with a surprisingly cool and unnerving distance to her words even as she stared at the sleeping and restrained Satedan. "They say that they are bitten by a monster to become a monster. They walk among men by day only to turn into hideous beasts under the light of the full moon. We called them the Garou." There was a subtle elegance to how Teyla annunciated the word carefully, drawing it from the depths of her childhood memories. "The cursed of the moon and marked by the beast."

"Yeah, we've got the same story on Earth. We call 'em werewolves," Sheppard said with an uncomfortable, forced chuckle.

Teyla sighed and shook her head. "I had thought it was just a myth intended to frighten children and keep them from straying from the villages at night." The woman smirked to herself. "I remember, once, when Halling was very young, he and some of the village boys went camping at the edge of our border. All of the boys, Halling included, came running back screaming that the Garou were going to eat them alive. My father organized a hunting party of all able bodied and experienced men to slay the Garou before it descended upon the village."

"Bet they didn't find one, did they?"

"No," Teyla admitted almost mischievously. "As I said, I had often thought the Garou were a myth intended to frighten children."

"Bet your dad was pretty pissed when he figured out who the Garou was that night," Sheppard tried to tease but failed miserably.

Teyla smiled ever so slightly, her lips curling at the edges as color flushed her cheek at her obvious guilt. "My father never found the Garou in question."

There was a tense moment when neither spoke, one which Sheppard felt he might have understood. The Garou and werewolves were the thing of myth and legend. To contemplate that they actually existed seemed laughable at best. Although, admittedly, before coming to Pegasus, Sheppard would have said the same thing about vampires, but, after meeting a few Wraith up close and personal, he wasn't so sure about any of the Earth myths anymore.

"So, do your myths tell you how to make a Garou back into a person?" John finally inquired. Teyla looked down for a moment, piquing his curiosity. "What?"

The woman did not answer at first, preferring to stare at the floor in an uncharacteristic display of reluctance that wasn't becoming of Teyla in the slightest. "The myths spoke only of killing a person who has become a Garou, never returning them to their original state. They say that the only merciful thing to do to a Garou.... is to end its life quickly." Teyla looked to Sheppard with hope in her eyes. "What do your people's myths suggest we do with a Garou?"

Sheppard frowned, his brow knitting for a moment in tension. "Kill it."

The Athosian hardly flinched. "We will not kill him."

"Nope." Sheppard folded his arms cross his chest. "But I _do_ want to talk to him."

xxxx

Despite Keller's insistence that Sheppard get some rest, he sat at Ronon's bedside in the isolation room, arms folded across his chest and watching intently. It was the same position he had taken up after the Satedan rode out the lingering effects of the Wraith enzyme. He just waited, patiently. After all, if it meant the safety of his people and the security of Atlantis, Sheppard had all the time in the world to wait for Ronon to wake up and talk.

When Ronon finally did speak, Sheppard was so distracted with staring at the ceiling that it startled him. "Sheppard?"

"You're awake." Sheppard blinked slightly, as though surprised or confused before swallowing. "How are you feeling?"

"A bit stiff." Ronon pulled slightly at the restraints to illustrate his displeasure.

"It was for your own good, big guy."

Ronon cocked an eyebrow at Sheppard almost accusingly. "Was it?"

"We were... concerned that you might hurt someone or yourself like that," Sheppard explained with an oddly detached feeling to the situation as his mind refused to shake loose the image of Ronon as a shaggy, furry monster, all teeth and claws.

Ronon sank back into the mattress, but not in defeat, for his eyes held a wild defiance. "I wouldn't have."

"You were self aware?" Sheppard questioned, demanding the answer.

The Satedan met his gaze, intent and sure. "I wouldn't have hurt anyone."

There was a moment when neither said a thing, but, then, Sheppard went and ruined it by asking hotly, "You knew, didn't you?" Ronon turned his head away, perhaps in shame and perhaps in avoidance; Sheppard pressed, "You knew yesterday at breakfast, didn't you? When you told us to hunt it our 'damned selves,' as you put it."

Ronon closed his eyes. "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

The Satedan drew in a deep, pregnant breath, averting his gaze. "It's different. It's not like anything I've experienced in my life."

"What's it like?"

Ronon curled his lips into a faint, wistful smile. "It's freedom."

"You are always free here," Sheppard pointed out. The Satedan jerked at his wrist to indicate the restraints with a mischievous glint in his eyes; the colonel shook his head. "Point taken." Sheppard shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck. "So why didn't you tell us?"

"Ford," came the simple, one word answer and a world of accusation.

The colonel frowned at the implication. "Ford was sick."

"Am I sick?" Ronon inquired, a thick venom to his words to accompany and unspoken insult.

"I guess you could say that," Sheppard replied, trying to dodge whatever argument the Satedan tried to start up. "Most people don't turn into a big beasty thing in the middle of the night."

"I like it," Ronon rumbled, turning his attention to an apparently quite offensive spot of wall to glare at instead of his commanding officer.

The colonel gave momentary pause before sighing. "So did Ford." Sheppard paused, dwelling for the briefest of moments on what had become of his once friend and partner, thinking about the first time through the gate with him to Atlantis with a deep remorse. "Said the enzyme was the best thing going." Sheppard looked down, still bothered by the betrayal. "The enzyme was affecting his mind like a drug. It made him say and do things he wouldn't have normally."

"And you hunted him like a dog."

The words stung like a blow. It was true, after all. They had constantly said it was for Ford's own good that they found him and brought him back to Atlantis. However, there was no beating around the bush about it. They hunted him. They brought stunners and guns, even shot him a few times. Now Sheppard understood. Ronon had known the whole time because of what happened to Ford that they would eventually come hunting him down with guns, knives, and stunners.

"Well, we're going back to that planet to find whatever did this to you and reverse the effects," Sheppard announced, setting his hands nervously upon his hips. "Dr. Keller may be no Carson Beckett, but I'm sure she can figure it out."

Ronon scowled. "What if I don't want her to figure it out?"

Sheppard blinked, feeling rather like being faced with Ford once more, out in those fields before throwing himself into the culling beam and again in the hive. He wasn't entirely sure what to say about it. Ford hadn't wanted their help either. History had come right around once more to smack John Sheppard in the face. Sheppard said nothing to Ronon as he spun about and left the room, nearly barreling into Woosley and Keller as he did.

Woosley gave a quick nod. "Colonel Sheppard, Dr. Keller and I were just discu-"

"We're going back," the colonel interrupted rather brusquely.

Woosley blinked. "Beg your pardon."

"To Lothlorien. We're going back."

xxxx

The planet stood exactly as Sheppard remembered it from just a few weeks earlier. Towering, gracefully ancient trees spanning hundreds of meters into the air and spreading in a thick, blanketing canopy. The air felt damp and cool, but comfortable in the night. The moss felt springy and fresh under foot. Sheppard glanced up to the moon through the trees and, thankfully, found it to be a thick, pale curve in the velvety blue sky, no where near the full moon of myth if such urban legends truly applied in Pegasus.

Sheppard glanced to his side, to Teyla and Rodney as the gate winked shut behind them with a flash of blue-white light, their weapons already drawn and aimed. Woosley had argued for a full search party returning to the far flung planet, but the colonel had insisted against. There was already one person infected with whatever had made Ronon into the creature he was; Sheppard couldn't take the risk of it happening again. In fact, after Ronon's rather pointedly drawn parallels to Ford, Sheppard would have preferred hunting the beasts down himself, but Teyla had been quite persuasive that, for safety's sake, the entire team should go, save Ronon, of course.

And, so, there they were, stalking the misty woods of Lothlorien for the second time in a month. However, while they had been relaxed and joking the first time they went to Lothlorien, this time there was an almost palpable tension in the air, thick and choking. It sang down their taut muscles and through their adrenaline fueled veins. Sheppard's eyes flickered about the forests, checking every little shadow for signs of the beast that had caused this whole fiasco.

It was a pity then, with such sharp focus and caution, that they were so unprepared for when all hell broke loose a moment later.

They came from nowhere, swooping down and out of the sky, screaming with a high pitched whine. Sheppard, Teyla, and Rodney immediately ducked into the underbrush along one the massive trees, their eyes going skyward to the unmistakable, angular shapes cutting through the heavens. Darts. With the Wraith mostly taken out, their technology had all but died out. Yet, there they were, as sure as anything, as though the Wraith hadn't fallen into decline at all.

Rodney inched back, but, before any of them could bolt, the radiant white light of a culling beam bathed down upon them, and, then, there was nothingness.

xxxx

Ronon frowned, feeling his skin and bones crawling under his skin. He looked to the windows overhead of the observation room, but there was no one. Not even Woosley or Keller. He shifted his weight against the restraints uneasily. He needed to be free, to run and be wild, to be with his team, his pack.

But they were gone.

xxxx

When the blinding white light fell away from them, they were already surrounded. ring of bulky, muscular, and well armed guards encircled the three, their weapons drawn and aimed at the hapless team that had been so easily scooped up from the surface of Lothlorien. The built men stood taller than even Ronon would have, covered in more than enough dark, garnet colored armor than seemed necessary. The weapons varied from elegant, sweeping blades and spears that would have made Ronon absolutely green with envy to what looked not too dissimilar from the snub nosed stunners of the Wraith. Sheppard blinked the last faded yellow that tainted his vision from the culling beam to survey the situation, noting that they were badly outnumbered in a small, enclosed, and dimly lit space in a stony catacomb. There seemed no obvious way out and no simple way to get out of being so cornered.

One of the men in armor covered in a detailed filigree pattern stepped forward, aiming his weapon right at the colonel's chest and barking in an undeniably Wraith voice, "Drop your weapons."

It was curious, very strange indeed, for a Wraith to wear anything other than their standard, heavy leather work or the creamy, bony armor of their stations. It was even more unusual to see a Wraith working with anyone but their own kind, unless it had its own motivations. John's blood ran ice cold in his veins to recognize that truth about Pegasus, wondering what exactly it could mean.

Sheppard shot a reluctant glance to Teyla and Rodney before giving in. Teyla looked at him curiously, but he just frowned. John and Teyla alone couldn't fight their way out of this, and Rodney couldn't fight his way out of a paper bag. Sheppard nodded in reluctance as he admitted to himself that they had to play along for now, especially if it got him any closer to getting the samples that Keller would need to cure Ronon. Slowly, warily, Sheppard leaned slightly forward and let his P90 slip to the floor. Teyla and Rodney followed suit, albeit slower than their leader.

"Hands up," the Wraith ordered.

Sheppard scowled slightly before putting his hands over his head in submittal. He didn't need to look at Rodney and Teyla to know that they mirrored his action and stayed frozen there as the Wraith stripped them one by one of their tac vests and all their supplies, leaving them with only the shoes on their feet and the clothes on their back. The Wraith said something to the group of guards, and, before anyone could say anything, the three were herded down a long hall and shoved into a massive cell behind heavy bars, slamming the door shut behind them with a resounding ring.

Never one to let his enemy have the last laugh, Sheppard bolted back to the bars to call out an insult, but Teyla stopped him with just a fearful hand upon his arm. The color had drained from both her and Rodney's faces as they stared into the depths of the cell. They had been led down a stone corridor lit only by flaming torches, and, as such, the dim, orange glow only penetrated a few feet into their cage. He turned and peered into the shadows of the cell about them, watching closely. One shadow shifted and moved, followed by another.

Rodney gulped. "We're not alone."

Sheppard forced his eyes to adjust, letting the darkness in, watching the dark silhouettes as they moved away from the depths of the cell towards them, slowly taking shape. He shifted his weight without even thinking about it, putting himself between Rodney and whatever it was as Teyla advanced a step to to his side as well. John listened cautiously, pricking his ear to the far reaches of the cell but catching not a sound as the dark shapes moved forward. His training immediately kicked in, and the colonel began to count the forms moving towards them, trying to take note of where they were in relation to them. Twelve to fifteen at least, maybe more, each of them much larger than the three of them, leaving them once again sorely outnumbered.

"Fresh meat," one of them called mockingly from the dark.

As they came closer and as Sheppard's eyes finally shifted towards low light vision, the shapes took a human form. They were men, several of them. He saw their eyes glittering in the dim light about them as the fire flickered there. The tiny gleams made it easier for the colonel to keep tabs on their locations, despite how completely silent they moved. Most of the strangers took a quick survey and making soft, disgruntled sounds of disapproval, much to the colonel's relief before retreating to the shadows once more.

However, there was something to the way they moved, almost predatory, that put Sheppard ill at ease. A spidery fellow with a barking laugh circled too close to Sheppard, smiling devilishly, and John noticed the eyes. They were golden and animalistic in a way Sheppard could not describe, almost canine. Before Sheppard could say anything, the wiry man spat at the colonel's feet and dragged back to the edge of the light where the others gathered. The colonel glanced to Teyla, who dipped her head ever so slightly at the shared conclusion. Garou. All of them.

One of them whistled low, catcalling, "Dibs on the female."

"Talon gets first dibs," another argued, smacking the first on the shoulder with a quick slap as he chortled.

Among the men gathered just beyond the reach of the light, if they could really be called men, was a great, hulking creature. This one was taller, and bulkier, his arms knotted with muscles and lined with faint, thin scars here and there in various shades that suggested he had seen a fair amount of fighting and won most, if not all, of the time. His eyes were an impossibly dark brown, almost black, that gleamed with a predatory light, as though the wilds still lurked there in those depths. His hair hung down in a mane of long, ebony locks, smooth and glistening like raven's feathers. The man wore a set of abstract tattoos in curling designs that looked vaguely celtic in origin, giving him the rough, chiseled appearance of an ancient warrior, a look that Sheppard recognized well from Ronon. The stranger held his head high and walked with a purpose as he separated from the rest of the men, moving with a definite and determined stride that proclaimed him a creature not to be taken likely and that pissing oneself while in his company was utterly expected and perhaps even the social norm at this point considering how the other men parted ways for him as he passed. In a passing flight of fancy, Sheppard contemplated just how much this man looked like some bizarre crossbreed between a Viking warrior and a biker, leading the colonel to wonder whether a rich honey mead or a good beer could earn him the obvious top dog's favor to stay out of trouble for at least a little while.

It seemed he was about to get his chance to find out as the big man came towards him and silence befell those gathered. Sheppard stood and stiffened, straightening as much as possible but remaining in the shadow of the muscle bound man. The stranger drew close, so close that Sheppard could smell him, the scent of distant night, of forest trails, of soft fur, and, lingering beneath all that, the metallic copper and iron scent of blood upon his breath. He sneered, downright sneered, lifting a lip in distaste at the man before him, but John Sheppard had seen enough overblown braggarts in his time with Atlantis to know that most of them were just faking it. The colonel kept his posture straight, rigid, and as threatening as he could muster in return, knowing from personal experience that he had won several fights with creatures and men far larger and far more imposing simply due to his quick reflexes and sharp mind.

The big man leaned close to Sheppard and inhaled deeply, closing his eyes as he did as if to take in every tiny scrap of the colonel's own scent. He studied the smaller man before him, his intensely dark eyes sweeping up and down to assess every bit of Sheppard. In truth, the calculating flesh in the big man's eyes somewhat unnerved and somewhat frightened the colonel, yet Sheppard stood his ground and kept his own eyes narrowed in a stiff glare.

"Fresh meat," the man finally said in a deep growl that could just have easily come from a lion or wolf as it did from the man; his words rumbled in the big man's throat, like thunder upon the mountains. His gaze swept over Teyla and McKay before settling once more to stare at Sheppard and the name embroidered on his shirt. "Sheppard. A weak name for a weak little man."

"Don't push me," the colonel threatened curtly.

"Where do you come from?"

Sheppard grinned madly from ear to ear and quickly retorted, "Galactic Sector ZZ9 Plural Z Alpha."

McKay rolled his eyes and groaned inwardly at the dismal joke and hoped beyond hope that the muscle bound man standing within inches of Sheppard's face wasn't a fan of Douglas Adam's _Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy._ Sector ZZ9 Plural Z Alpha was the designation the galaxy used for the tiny bit of space that just so happened to be occupied by Earth in his series- shortly before the planet was destroyed supposedly to make way for a new, hyperspace onramp but really to prevent the discovery of the Ultimate Question. Suffice it to say, even Rodney didn't appreciate the paltry jest that could have been quite fatal at that moment. He cringed, yet the great man just stood his ground before Sheppard, never faltering nor questioning.

"Cute." The big man smiled devilishly, giving another sweeping look to Rodney and Teyla, and, as he did, Sheppard thought he caught a musky almost animal scent. "Some kind of a pack or gang?"

"You want to find out?"

The massive man gave an uncomfortable, low chuckle, letting it reverberate deep in his throat. "Fool. You won't last long."

Sheppard put on his most condescending face. "And what gives you that idea?"

The big man didn't answer that question; instead, he poked a finger into Sheppard's chest and jabbed harshly. "You're mine, meat boy."

The colonel smirked to himself. "Any day, buddy, any day."

The Wraith must have heard them, even from a distance, for his bellowing call echoed down the hall. The words were unintelligible amid the echoes, but the tone and intent were clear. Settle down, get quiet, and stay quiet or die a slow and grizzly death at the hands of the Wraith.

Another massive Garou sidled up behind the big man, calling out, "C'mon, Talon. You'll get your chance in the pit."

The big man, Talon, turned to nod at the massive half-jackal, half-man that had addressed him before returning to his attention to Sheppard. "Tomorrow."

Sheppard watched as Talon turned and stalked off to the far end of the cell, keeping a wary eye on the big man as he retreated before turning to Rodney and Teyla; McKay folded his arms across his chest. "Making friends already?"

The colonel nodded, smiling to himself. "Yup."

"I do not think it is wise to antagonize so many Garou in an enclosed space," the Athosian argued rather softly.

Rodney tore his fingers through his thin hair. "This is bad, very bad."

Sheppard smirked, completely unphased by the danger that skulked just outside of the dim light of the torches. "Why? Keller needs tissue sample from the Garou for Ronon." He tossed his head in the general direction of the receding shadows as the strangers slowly moved back to wherever they had come from. "And we're in a room full of Garou."

**XXX**

**XXXXX**

**XXX**

**Author's Notes: **Sorry it took so long. I had to go visit a friend in Western New York who was starting dialysis and ended up in Canada. See, I was there, and Canada was there, and, well, one thing led to another, and I ended up wandering across Rainbow Bridge by myself. It was good fun and kind of sad all at the same time, and has served to inspire a new Rodney-centric fic that I should hopefully have ready in a month or so. Enjoy the continued Ronon/Sheppard drama that is **Feast of the Samhain**.

And, I know, this isn't really such a great chapter, but I needed to start getting towards other events.

As always, reviews greatly appreciated. *hugs in advance*


	6. Sinking Serenade

**FEAST OF THE SAMHAIN - SINKING SERENADE**

Ronon did not feel the bitter, driving cold of the ice bath upon his chest nor the feeble smacks against his chest as Sheppard desperately tried to push away from him. In retrospect, as he peeled away his sodden shirt in favor of a dry one in the privacy of his own room, the only thing Ronon had felt was the sinking welt in his chest as Sheppard struggled against their hold. He shuddered to himself to recall how the frail, fragile seeming body had shivered against him. With a pang of cutting remorse, Ronon frown at how he had held the injured man down in the frigid water as he screamed and fought.

Although, it could not truly be called a "scream" in the true sense of the word. Sheppard's mouth may have been open indeed, with his lungs pouring out every bit of air in massive, horrified vents, but the sound that had come from his mouth was little more than a thinly rasped wheeze. It had been an awful, dry sound that sent shivers down Ronon's spine just to think about it. Every hoarse little hiss had been nothing more than an accusation to the Satedan of his fault, and it had cut to the core. Ronon cringed involuntarily just to recall the empty, hollow shrieks.

In a sudden vent of fury, Ronon lashed out, moving before his mind could process his own body's actions as his fist flew. The burly man punched the wall soundly, far harder than he truly should have. Atlantis's secure construction did not give in the slightest, and the Satedan's knuckles split instantly on contact with a splatter of crimson blood across the wall. He stood there for a moment, seething at both the thought of what had happened to Sheppard and his own stupidity. It was a foolish, childish act that the runner knew he should never have engaged in, but the man could not help but indulge the need. The man looked down to his bloodied knuckles and touched the tender flesh there, almost savoring the sting sensation that sang through his hand.

_"It's not your fault, Ronon. He just... isn't himself right now."_

Keller had tried in her own, soft sort of way, to reassure Ronon after she had seen the look of pure remorse upon the Satedan's face when Sheppard finally slipped back to merciful unconsciousness in the ice bath. She had explained in her best of bedside manners that the fever made him act so, but Ronon could not shake the guilt of seeing Sheppard so completely terrified. After the ice bath, Keller had asked Ronon to help dry him and return the prone man back to bed in isolation. He had obliged, but carefully so, afraid to hurt Sheppard any worse than his negligence and restraining hands already had. A part of Ronon had dimly listened to Keller's speculation on something she referred to as "a procedure not unlike surgical debarking" as she restrained the colonel once more, but all he had heard was the sound of Sheppard's silent screams echoing in his head, drowning out everything else in the world around him.

It was his fault, and there was nothing anyone could say or do to change that.

There came a knock at his door, timid but staccato. Ronon sniffed, tasting the air and turning his head to catch the sound. It was strange, after all these years, that the animalistic action had become so intrinsic and almost habitual. Rodney. He sighed to himself and opened the door, blocking the entryway with his mass and leaning against the wall with his injured hand to keep it out of sight.

Rodney looked haggard and upset, fiddling with his hands as he spoke. "Weylin is making the arrangements." The physicist looked down and to the side, averting his gaze but inadvertently displaying the three long, slickly shining scars that marred his round cheek. "He wants to know if you're coming this time."

Ronon frowned; Weylin had never given him the option before. Their frequent trips to the mainland had been almost mandatory in Weylin's eyes. The Satedan had simply lost track of the time over the last week or two with Sheppard back, completely forgetting that they were due for a trip. Oh, yes, now that he thought of it, Ronon could feel the sickeningly sweet tension and electric spark in his nerves.

The Satedan asked softly, "Birkita?"

The physicist shook his head. "Staying behind." The smaller man paused before adding with a shrug, "As always."

It wasn't healthy, Ronon mused with a tiny bob of his head. Ever since Sheppard had been brought back, Birkita had become the resident shut-in of Atlantis. Before, she had been vibrant and full of life, loping down the long corridors of the city. She would play with the personnel of Atlantis in the sunshine, going so far as to frolic with them. However, now that Sheppard was home, Birkita kept to herself and refused to leave her room but rarely. Ronon had heard that she had graced the infirmary with her presence once or twice, but only in the dark of the night when the rest of the city was still and silent, when most normal people slept, and slinking out as soon as someone spied her presence and before anything could be said.

Ronon mulled it over for a moment, perhaps too long, before shaking his head solemnly. "I can't."

"That's what Weylin figured you would say." Rodney sighed in admittance, stuffing his hands in his pockets to occupy them with anything other than openly fidgeting. "Going to be a long weekend, then, eh?"

Ronon shrugged. "The longest."

xxxx

As soon as Dog awoke once more, a silent groan escaped his lips to realize the masters had returned him to his bed and strapped him down once more. They had chosen to keep him alive for another day of perfect suffering and the purest of hells, when he had been so very close to death. It had been just another cruel joke, to wave the only thing Dog craved right in front of his only to snatch it away from him so swiftly.

Dog shuddered, dragging in a hitched breath. _"Why can't I just die?"_

It was a question that Dog often asked himself. There had been a time when he had simply wondered why his masters would not put him out of his misery, but Dog knew better than to question the madness of his masters. Instead, now, there remained the bittersweet contemplation of quite simply why his body just refused to give out on him. He had lost all strength and energy, feeling the fever of infection burning him alive, and, still, he could not die. Nor did his keepers offer any opportunity for Dog to take matters into his own hands. He wanted to die, more than anything else in the world, no matter how wrong and alien the overwhelming desire felt.

_"Why?"_

His body felt wooden and heavy; even his shattered wrist and ankle only mildly throbbed compared to the previous agony. They were keeping him drugged and likely for a reason that he knew all too well from personal experience. Dog shivered as tears burnt their way down his cheeks in palpable fear. His masters only kept him alive and in mediocre health to serve their petty whims. The few rare times Dog had the pleasure to experience any decent medical treatment was before a big fight, when the masters needed him in as best of shape as possible to face his opponent and make the fight interesting.

A familiar knot twisted in Dog's lower spine. The night would come soon, and, then, the masters would be back. They would drag him out from the false comfort of this place with plush beds and soft voices, out to the pit to fight for his life.

The lights flickered over his head, making Dog jump in fright, his heart nearly bursting right out of his chest. He twisted in the bed and started when he felt something give ever so slightly. Dog blinked his bleary eyes to focus both his vision as his foggy thoughts. The leather cuff on one side did not wrap about his wrist, but about the plaster cast there. Dog flopped back in the mattress, pulling and tugging against the restraints, feeling the plaster bend under the pressure. It wasn't much, perhaps little more than a sixteenth of an inch, but it was a start. Dog trembled, licking his dry, salty lips before writhing once more against the restraints for a while, too long, as, despite the drugs they continually pumped into his body, his broken wrist protested with angry throbs accompanying each and every heart beat.

When the leather cuff did not give any further, Dog sobbed openly, the tears spilling down his cheeks freely now. He had to get out of there, had to break free while he was still lucid and strong enough. Dog had to get away before the masters came again, get away to find a place to just end it all and die of his own accord before they could come for him again.

The lights overhead went out altogether now, plunging Dog into a deep, comforting darkness but sending adrenaline spiking through his veins and singing down his nerves. His fleeting strength and fight renewed by the sudden, sharp panic, Dog bucked again, lurching back against the bonds until something gave with an absolutely sickening crunch of plaster and a meaty crunch of bone shards popping out of their alignment and grating against one another.

Dog threw his head back and howled silently into the dark in agony as he pulled harder and harder now. There was only one good thing to having been silenced so brutally by his prior master. He could scream and shriek into the dark, and no one would hear his cries. No one would be alerted to his desperate plan. The initial act had been nothing more than a punishment, but, now, it seemed an odd blessing in disguise.

He slumped into the bed for a moment, gathering himself and frantically panting ragged breaths in exhaustion. But, when Dog strained once more against the restraint, whimpering mutely through gritted teeth, there was more give now, and the thought alone gave Dog the strength to keep working at it.

xxxx

As soon as the power flickered off in the infirmary, Keller and her staff instinctively started their rounds of routine bed checks. There weren't any patients on any sort of life support machinery that would require immediate attention, but it was an instinctive habit for the medical staff to check in with each and every patient. The marine with the broken leg from having tripped and fallen down a steep ravine jokingly complained about the lack of quality hotel comforts. The scientist with the chemical burn jovially added a snipe about the poor room service. The nurses chuckled while Keller merely smiled and floated past each bed through quick vital checks.

Then, with a brief sigh of hesitation, Keller strode towards isolation. It was not that she wanted to avoid Sheppard. She just felt a lingering guilt at having Ronon hold him down in the ice bath. The doctor had been hoping, after that and a course of sedation, Sheppard would just sleep through the night and the power failures without putting any further stress on his heart, mind, and tortured body. He needed the rest to recover, and Keller did not want to wake him if possible.

The woman reached for the door crystals and found no response. She frowned and tapped her earpiece. "Rodney?"

_"Yes, yes, I am exceedingly well aware of the problem," _the physicist replied. _"And regret to inform you that I am _still _working on isolating the source of the fluctuations."_

"Rodney?" Keller said his name once more, simply, rolling her eyes.

_"Yes?"_

She smirked at his clear nervousness. "Think you can get some doors working for me anytime soon?"

The doctor could almost imagine Rodney's flustering gestures as he replied, _"Yes, of course. Sorry." _He paused, obviously working on something, before calling back. _"Give it a shot now."_

She palmed the door crystals to isolation and immediately tapped her com once more. "Ronon, Weylin, we've got a problem. Where are you two?"

_"Running," _Ronon replied instantly, quickly and steadily.

_"Squeezing in one last hot shower before the mainland tomorrow." _Canagan groggily growled over the radio. _"What's wrong?"_

"Sheppard's gone."

xxxx

_Six years earlier:_

They agreed to sleep in shifts through the exceedingly long and nerve-wracking night spent desperately avoiding and vigilantly watching the lurking Garou in the shadows. While Sheppard did not relish the thoughts of being captive for perhaps the hundredth time in his life, he knew better than to make any daring attempts at escape at the moment. He had, sadly, learned from much hard-earned experience, most of it from Pegasus alone. First, the three Lanteans had to get a working knowledge of this place, the security, the guard rotations, and where they were in relation to a Stargate, if any. Only then could they formulate anything near a passable plan of escape. And, thus, no matter how much it killed him inside to submit to seemingly eagerly, Sheppard would bide his time.

When dawn finally broke, dim, watery light poured through a high window that had not been noticed in the night, and the three were finally able to get a good sense of their surroundings. The cell was indeed large, spanning perhaps twenty meters back. The ceiling arched overhead in great, sweeping curves that bowed to the center, singular, round window that seemed impossibly out of reach, taunting them. It seemed that some great, master engineer had sculpted the cell into the rock, as opposed to simply boring it out. A row of bars ran down the side of the cell, flanking the stone corridor that the three had arrived down.

And, out there, stretched out on the floor, reclining against the walls, or curled up like puppies, were the Garou. They were clad in rough cloth and leather, each bearing a securely fastened and locked ebony collar about their necks. Most slumbered with the pure ease born through the knowledge that came with knowing they were at the top of the food chain in this place, whereas the Lanteans had been nervous and raw. It only seemed fitting, as they were incredible predators lurking under the pallid, weak human flesh. The Lanteans would stand not a chance if the Garou turned on them, and the wolves knew it.

After Sheppard's eyes adjusted to the pale, predawn twilight, he managed to get a good count of them. There were precisely twenty three Garou in the cell with them, Talon included. A few of them were short and wiry, but most were burly and muscular, lean and strong seeming. They each bore individual scars and tattoos, but all of them were dressed in rough, coarse clothing, simple and neutral in color, mostly leather like the attire Ronon preferred.

Only one Garou in the predawn light did not rest. Talon. The hulking man paced along the line of bars in long, meandering strides, his face shrouded by his long, ebony locks. He hung his head oddly, turning his attention every now and again, as though to take in some distant sound that perhaps only Garou could hear. When Sheppard looked to the skulking man's feet, there were faded scuff marks on the floor as though the Garou had been pacing for some time now, perhaps hours before the dawn broke. After a time, Talon lifted his head and parted his human to lips to let out an utterly inhuman and wolfish howl, letting the long note ring against the cold, hard stone of the cell with a hollow shiver.

Rodney squirmed on the ground, throwing an arm over his ear to block out the sound and grumbling, "Some people are _trying _to sleep."

However, the big Garou paid the physicist no heed, letting out another keening howl. In response, the other Garou stirred to call with their own greetings in return before returning to their sleep, but Talon kept his head training for something else. Finally, after a few moments of silence, a distant, lonely cry met Sheppard's ears. Another wolf, another Garou, somewhere far away, it sounded, but still in this odd place. When Sheppard looked to Talon, the colonel could have sworn he saw the faintest edges of a smile appearing on the otherwise gruff man's face.

Talon caught sight of Sheppard's cautious, curious gaze and sneered. "Soon, Meat Boy."

xxxx

The rest of the day stretched endlessly into oblivion. Some of the Garou played small games of their own with unspoken rules that even Rodney could not seem to wrap his mind around, while the physicist continually attempted to lure Sheppard into a rousing game of "Prime / Not Prime." The colonel kept quiet and used the game as a diversion as he continued to study their surroundings for any possible escape and finding none.

As the day wore on and the filtered light turned to a hazy twilight, the Garou grew restless. Many rose to their feet to pace, their hackles raised, their eyes wild and aggressive. Something put them on edge, and the animal that lurked beneath human skin seemed to clamor for freedom or maybe a good fight. They moved about one another, occasionally letting out a low, rumbling growl or a snarling snap, often directed at one another but sometimes in the direction of the three actual humans. McKay pressed back into their corner and away from the beasts, but not a one actually came for them.

Rodney's stomach growled in protest throughout the day, but, thankfully, the physicist was smart enough to hold his tongue. Either that, or the taunting snarls of the Garou kept the normally outspoken scientist quiet. He paced, though, moving back and forth in the tiny space the unspoken territories afforded the three human newcomers, occasionally fiddling with his hands nervously and mouthing silent conversations and mathematics to himself. The obvious agitation of the Garou seeped into the physicist, gripping him just as equally.

All but Talon seemed on edge. The hulking Garou held a steady calm about him, not too much unlike Ronon in the end. After the unusual, howling serenade in the morning, the warrior receded to the back of the cell, sitting in a ready crouch with his eyes closed. His breaths were still and slow, making it extremely difficult to tell from their position whether the half man, half beast slept or merely meditated. The muscle bound man had a calm about him that said he knew what was coming.

Sheppard watched with increasing curiosity, though, when dusk finally fell and the torches were lit, as Talon got to his feet. The big Garou moved with a purpose now, striding through the others and towards the front in the dying bits of afternoon light. Talon wore the increasing shadows behind him as a cloak, as though the darkness suited him better than human skin. He skulked- downright skulked- through the others of his kind, hunching his shoulders in an utterly predatory way. For a horrible moment, Sheppard thought this obvious alpha male might be coming for three, unarmed humans, pushing Rodney behind him, but Talon veered off course at the last minute to the door to the cell, just in time to be greeted by the rogue Wraith.

Sheppard stared intently at an aggressive, silent exchange between the two as the Garou puffed up, folding his muscle knotted arms across his chest and narrowing his eyes even as they began to shift from human brown to a wolfish golden and as the shape began to mold and change. The Wraith just hissed deeply in response, even as a bit of fur began to bristle and ripple down the Garou's spine. Talon growled low and intently, never taking his feral gaze from the Wraith. The other Garou fell into stride behind him, all muscles, all slowly shifting towards their wolf skin, and all clearly pissed at the Wraith. The others were loud and aggressive, while Talon remained calm and defiant in his own threats. The rogue seemed to care very little, if at all, for the greater numbers, snarling in response, especially when his own, heavily armed reinforcements appeared at his back, bearing both stunners and gleaming, silvery blades.

Something was about to happen; something very bad. John could feel it with an electric snap on the air, accompanied by the popping of joints snapping and reforming into inhuman shapes. Teyla kept her usual calm outward appearance, but she, too, could sense it with a worrying unease. Rodney, for his part, just held his breath, waiting for something, anything to happen.

It never did.

Faced with the superior numbers and weaponry of the Wraith and his guards, Talon silenced his kin with a singular, calming gesture of his suddenly angular seeming hand where claws threatened to push forth from his fingertips. The Garou grew quiet once more, their echoing growls dropping to nothing more than rumbles of irritation in their throats. They followed Talon's lead, stilling themselves grudgingly.

The Wraith watched with predatory eyes for a moment, surveying the impatient Garou before nodding to the guards at his side. The cage was unlocked, and the Garou led filing out. Many held their heads high and proud, almost aggressive in their gesture. All but Talon. He hung his head bowed as they walked out. The Wraith gave only a small measure of pause to consider the three humans still remaining before sniffing and locking them in, spinning about to catch up with the contingent of human guards and Garou prisoners.

Rodney let out an audible sigh of relief, but Sheppard could not simply diffuse so easily. The tension that had been so apparent just moments ago refused to abate within him, even without the presence of the Wraith or the Garou. Whatever horrible something the colonel had been waiting for would still happen, just not as expected, not there nor then. But it would happen nevertheless, and it would be for Garou alone to face. Something about that deeply disturbed the colonel as he pondered the possibilities.

Sometime later, a sound echoed in the rock overhead, thrumming through the ancient stone. Rodney froze, feeling the vibrations through the cell coming from all around and about them. His fingertips traced the ground letting the faint shivers tickle at his skin.

Sheppard cocked his head to one side, listening like a dog for a moment before breathing, "It's....cheering."

Teyla frowned, her brow knitting. "For what?"

"I don't even _want _to know. Not now," Rodney bickered, clearly bothered and frightened by the situation, gazing up to the window over them as pale, crystalline light poured through and onto them. When no one else said anything, Rodney pointed to the silvery beams and commented, "It's bright. Too bright." He looked to Sheppard with a note of hesitation. "Full, maybe, or close to it."

"The Garou..." Teyla whispered timidly before swallowing. "My father once said the Garou were ferocious."

Sheppard did not say a word. He did not have to, especially as the cheering rose to crescendo over them along with the sudden snaps and growls of the Garou. Howls pierced the night and reverberated in the cell with them. The Garou were fighting, and, judging by the sounds, against one another. Dog fighting was apparently quite popular throughout the universe, even in Pegasus.

After a time, one by one, the Garou were brought back and each given a small, wooden bowl with a meager portion of a gray slop that looked relatively edible. Most were in their human skin, meaning it was likely not the full moon on whatever world they had been taken if the myths were true. They were returned, however, in various states. Some were dragged unconscious back, their feet rasping against the stone floor, bleeding from assorted wounds and gashes that came in neat, ordered row that could have only be dealt by claws. Others ambled almost drunkenly in a daze, as though they had taken a couple of good blows to the head. There were a few lucky ones returning with but simple scratches upon them. The longer it took for a particular Garou to return, the worse its wounds seemed to be. The twentieth to return clutched his stomach with a trembling hand, even as blood poured down with grotesque splatters and plops upon the floor before curling up in a corner, shivering in shock. Sheppard doubted that one would last the night.

They waited for what seemed like ages for another to return, as the Garou sat licking their wounds, both metaphorically and literally. The crowds continued to roar overhead. Obviously, whatever fight took place above them was an impressive one. When Sheppard glanced about to survey the Garou, he noted that Talon had not returned along with another of the bulkier wolves.

Finally, after what felt like forever, the applause reached a tumultuous uproar. Rodney winced. The combat had ended, and, judging by the reaction, it had likely been a bloody end. The physicist shuddered, worrying now what lay in store for the three, wayward Lanteans in this strange world.

Talon came back a short time later, absolutely drenched in blood that came from no obvious wounds of his own and escorted by the Wraith and its entourage of armed guards. The Garou strode slowly, holding what looked like a fresh hare carcass dangling limply at his side, if rabbits came with deer racks atop their head. Someone had slit the throat of the poor little woodland creature and let it bleed dry. As Talon stood for the cell door to be opened once more, he hung his head, his ebony mane hiding his expression. The rogue Wraith unlocked the door for Talon, gesturing for the Garou to enter with a sweeping hand. For a moment, Talon stood frozen in place, stiff and clearly bristling from his black locks right down to his tones. The Wraith gave him a shove, but Talon remained stock still, not budging an inch for his captors.

"Move, dog," the Wraith ordered darkly, giving him another jab.

Talon growled but did not lift his head nor move. All of the Garou looked to their alpha expectantly. Even Sheppard, Teyla, and Rodney stared widely with concern at the Garou's defiance. All eyes were upon Talon as the Wraith leaned in close to hiss something for his ear's alone. The massive wolf in human skin tensed, his muscles tightened, his fist clenching the back legs of the hare until they cracked audibly under the Garou's crushing grip. The Garou let out calling howls, perhaps out of concern or encouragement. Talon sighed and stepped into the cell of his own accord, the Wraith chortling almost demonically.

One of other monster sized Garou that had seemed the second in command strode up to Talon, his golden eyes studious as he inquired, "Selket?"

Talon did not say anything. Instead, he merely shook his solemnly, his gaze distant and grim. It was an expression both Rodney and Teyla recognized from Sheppard. It was a minute expression that speaks immense volumes about what happened. The other Garou had not survived. Only twenty two Garou remained now as the cell closed.

As the guards left, the Garou diffused glumly, settling in to their pathetic meals, Talon finding his own corner to crouch in as he tore into the strange hare without any relish. If anything, the massive man held nothing but an expression of what could have been remorse. Teyla grimaced at the wolf and the raw meat clutched in his big hands. Rodney's stomach betrayed him, rumbling miserably after a day denied any food at the cloying scent of what looked like a rather bland mash. Talon raised an eyebrow from his unsavory meal, cocking it in the scientist's direction rather ominously.

Rodney smirked sheepishly, muttering nervously, "Sorry...."

Talon stood abruptly on swift, strong legs, closing the space between himself and the Lanteans with surprising speed. Sheppard scrambled to his own feet, instinctively throwing himself between Rodney and the Garou, still uncertain of what the physicist had done to deserve the ire of Talon. The colonel's sight fell to the sharp claws visible in Talon's hands, stained red with the blood of his opponents and of the hare. He held out his hands in a placating gesture.

"He didn't mean it," Sheppard argued defensively.

Talon towered over them, holding the rabbit by its diminutive antlers and drawing the carcass up to his teeth to tear another bite of flesh from the bones. He chewed for a long moment, as though mulling things over, smacking his lips on the raw flesh. Then, as he swallowed, Talon threw the hare at Rodney with a toothy, crimson stained grin.

"Eat. Keep your strength," the wolf hissed through teeth too pointed to be human.

Rodney blinked, staring in disgust at the ruined corpse in his hands. "Ew. Gross. Just.... gross. It's probably crawling with bacteria."

Sheppard paid Rodney no attention, folding his arms across his chest and posturing in pride for Talon's benefit. "Why are you doing this? What do _you_ care if we stay strong?"

Talon laughed, a bellowing bass sound, flashing a mischievous and threatening look. "Because it's no fun killing pathetic little sniveling runts."

And, with that, the Garou spun about on his heel to retreat to the shadows.

xxxx

A soft, elegant female voice, barely more than a whisper, woke John Sheppard from his light, uneasy slumber. "Are you certain?"

Sheppard had fallen asleep between his shift of keeping watch, lying on the frigid cold stone beside Teyla. Though it was the Athosian's watch, the woman appeared to have fallen asleep as well, curling up on the floor like a child and facing John. Dark shadows reigned now, as the torches appeared to have been doused or had simply died out. The only light came from the moon above, just enough to give a pale light to the cell, not enough to truly see by.

"Absolutely." A deep, dark voice.

Sheppard moved to listen closer, but Teyla pressed against him. She made a soft, murmuring noise, as though asleep, even as she draped an arm about him. When Sheppard looked down, her eyes were open, though, and wide awake. She reached up and pressed a finger to his lips now that his face was obscured by hers. The colonel smirked to himself. Leave it to Teyla to always be thinking. She had to have been listening cautiously for a while and not wanting to blow their cover.

"All of them?" the unseen female speaker pressed.

"I can't be sure about all of them, but the leader, definitely." Now John recognized the male voice that spoke as the big Garou he knew to be Talon.

"How can you tell?"

Talon made a gruff sound, possibly a sigh, but also possibly a grunt. "Their clothes, their speech patterns." He paused. "I have no question in my mind."

The female voice went on. "After all this time. Tau'ri. Here. Now. Can you believe it?" The female sounded excited and almost elated. "Where did they come from?"

John peered over the side of Teyla's head, but only the back of the hulking man was visible. "I don't know, but definitely Earth." The colonel almost started, but Talon just game a small chuckle and spat. "Hitchhickers."

The feminine voice dropped to almost a breath. "Are they...?"

"No. Single natured," Talon replied

"I can't take them all."

The Garou paused for a moment, as though in thought, before whispering, "Then take the round male and the female." He clucked oddly. "The two of them would never survive the pit."

"And the other male?" the female breathed.

Sheppard's body went rigid, knowing they spoke of him; Talon, however, cracked his knuckles, replying, "Leave him to me. I'll be quick."

The colonel shuddered slightly at the thought but a scuff met his ears, almost startling him. It did, however, start someone from the pair. Sheppard glanced to them in the darkness as the frail seeming silhouette on the other side of the bars rose, staring down the length of the hall for a moment. Then, the female leaned close to Talon, throwing slender arms through the bars.

She whispered fiercely, "They're coming."

And, with that, the female stole off into the night, swallowed by the shadows as though she had never really existed at all. Talon said nothing more, drifting away from the long row of bars. He slunk away, to the back of the cell to where the dark stole him as well and, judging by the sounds, hunkered down.

They had to get out of there, and fast.

xxxx

Sheppard spent the rest of the night awake and on edge. He moved stealthily through the cell, cautious to avoid the slumbering Garou. His fingertips slipped over the damp stone floor, searching for something, anything they could use as a weapon. The colonel didn't know what he was looking for, but they had to try. After a haphazard and rather nerve wracking few hours, Sheppard found nothing.

At dawn, when the Garou began to stir once more, the man reluctantly returned in defeat to Teyla and Rodney, shrugging, "I've got nothing."

Not long after that, a contingent of guards arrived at the cell led, of course, by everyone's favorite rogue Wraith. Behind him strode a regal looking, old man, his hair peppered and grey. He had a rough look to him, and a curved mustache. His clothes draped richly off his form in delicate velvets and detailed brocades in sumptuous colors. At his side strode a figure cloaked entirely in a blue so dark it appeared black where the fabric did not catch the light, every inch of the second person covered and hidden from sight. The unusual party stopped before the cell for a moment, the old man surveying the group gathered.

Talon stood abruptly and curtly, before immediately taking to a knee and bowing his head in respect. It seemed an alien gesture to the burly Garou, but it somehow fit the situation. The others fell into stride with him when Talon growled bitterly, all dropping to their knees before these strangers.

The darkly cloaked individual leaned to the elderly man's side. A thin voice spoke no louder than a whisper. Whoever it was spoke too softly, far too softly to hear at all. Yet the man's face knit to a frown, followed by a grimace and, then, a scowl. Finally, the old man's expression softened, and he nodded indulgently to the other. The man turned to the guards and gestured towards Teyla and Rodney.

When the Wraith unlocked the cell and waved for the two humans to come forward, John stepped between them and shook his head. "No."

"They come with me," the Wraith announced.

Sheppard balled his fists. "They aren't going anywhere."

"It is as Turali Sin'ai demands," the Wraith said coolly, not deigning to even acknowledge the confusion on Rodney's face. "It is by his whim alone that you live or die."

"They're not going anywhere," the colonel stated firmly once more.

The motion happened so fast that, had Sheppard blinked, he may not have seen it. The Wraith rushed, charging him with lightning speed. His feeding hand stretched outward, reaching for the warmth and blood of the defiant human. However, the Wraith never reached him as a black bulk slammed into the predator, knocking him back and to the bars. At the same time, a heavy fist swung out and struck Sheppard soundly, backhanding him with a force that surprised him. The Wraith snarled and leapt upon the mass that, when the two hit the ground, Sheppard recognized as Talon. The Wraith rolled, snatching the Garou by his throat and squeezing tight, hauling the bulky man up and off the ground, his toes twitching as they sought the solid ground once more. Sheppard watching in a curious daze from the blow.

The Wraith snarled right in the Garou's face as Talon clawed at the monster's grip. "You forget your place, dog."

"And you.... forget.... that we.... dogs.... keep you.... fed," the Garou grunted through his teeth, jerking and twisting from the Wraith. "The human... is mine... No one.... else." Talon snarled, catching hold of the Wraith's wrist in human hands and willing the nails to grow so that pointed claws dug into the flesh. "MINE ALONE!" The Wraith howled in rage and pain when the claws sliced through his forearm, dropping Talon to the ground where the Garou panting demandingly to the richly clad man. "He.... is mine."

The older man behind the bars, Turali Sin'ai, nodded slowly, rubbing his chin and contemplating the situation before announcing in a rich baritone, "Leave the human be." Those cold, grey eyes fell upon Sheppard. "You're going to the pit tonight, then." With that, he spun about, taking the cloaked figure by the arm. "Bring the other two."

What happened next was a dizzying confusion. The guards swarmed in to the Wraith's aid. Surprisingly, the Garou backed down when Sheppard rose once more to fight, but the colonel had not been expecting the wolves to come to his aid. Fists flew, mostly in his direction, and, before Sheppard knew it, the guards had him laid out on the ground, pummeling him with fists and feet, as Teyla and McKay were dragged kicking and screaming from the cell.

When they left him there, Sheppard just curled up tightly in a corner, despite the ache in his ribs from the motion, thinking, _"I let them take Teyla and Rodney."_

Sheppard dozed through the rest of the day without resting, hoping beyond hope that every sound in the corridor heralded the return of either Teyla or Rodney, but no such luck. Every time he heard a footsteps, every time one of the Garou shifted their weight, Sheppard thought it was them, his heart leaping, only to have it dashed back to earth when he found it wasn't Rodney or Teyla. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the sinking pit in his gut. They were gone and it was all his fault.

And, somewhere in the back of the cold, lonely cell, he could hear Talon snickering to himself. "Tonight, Meat Boy. Tonight."

xxxx

"We're dead, we're dead, we are _so _dead."

Teyla ignored Rodney's terrified babbling. After they had been taken from the cell, the guards had brought them up, through a vast, sprawling maze of corridors, to a set of lavish quarters. They were hauled into what seemed a sitting room, and chained by the ankle to a massive ring in the center of the room on the floor. And, then, the guards had just left them alone. Rodney had gone to pacing and chewing nervously upon his thumbnail instantly while Teyla calmly and coolly began to explore as far as her fetters allowed.

The room spanned a large space, about the size of the gate room on Atlantis. A large set of french doors opened onto a balcony drenched in sunlight, but the chains did not offer enough length to even investigate and contemplate an escape that way. Heavy, ornate tapestries hung from the walls, all depicting wolves with bloody maws dripping crimson stalking through a tangled forest, darting through the night. They were all woven of ebony thread, while a single, smaller wolf ran at their lead in pure, snowy ivory. Teyla's fingers ran over the delicate threading with an almost loving touch. The wolf seemed to stare right out of the tapestry with icy blue eyes, sending shivers through the Athosian and making her turn away with unease to survey the rest of the room. There were plush, velveteen chairs set away from the windows in a deep burgundy that seemed almost visceral in the shadows they had been seemingly strategically positioned in. She noted with a hint of dismay that both the entryway, the doors to the balcony, and a second set of carved doors were all locked soundly.

To her great surprise, though, Rodney seemed to have gathered his wits about him. He began to examine the hefty padlocks that secured them. Rodney dropped it with a clank before examining every bit of furniture and fabric in the room, running his fingers over it in search of something to pick the locks. Teyla spied him hunched over a side-turned chair, studying the fabric staples beneath for something long and thin enough to manipulate the tumblers to the lock.

"Nothing," Rodney muttered, slamming the chair on the ground in a childish fit. "We're dead. That settles it. We're just dead."

Teyla went to hiss under her breath something about holding his tongue when the door they had entered through swung open with a creak. An older fellow shuffled in, dragging his right foot as though injured, accompanied by two hulking and heavily armed guards. His long, dusky hair had been swept back and braided. His blue eyes seemed solemn and distant. He wore a black collar like the Garou, but he wore rich, deep blue pants and tunic not unlike the cloaked figure from the morning. He bore a stack of folded clothes slung over one elbow and white towels over the other while he carried an ivory porcelain bowl and pitcher.

The grizzled old man set the items down on the floor before Teyla and Rodney before giving them each a nod, saying with an oddly Southern drawl, "Ya best be gettin' cleaned up now."

Teyla cocked an eyebrow in Rodney's direction but turned her attention to the stranger, putting on her best charm and bowing her head. "I am Teyla Emmagen, daughter of Tagan. I am pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Fineas," the man replied curtly.

Teyla nodded slowly, smiling warmly. "Fineas. It is an honor." She gestured to the room about them. "There has been a mistake, Fineas. We are explorers who were merely seeking assistance for a friend and other cultures to trade with. We were taken prisoner and locked away as enemies and thieves. We are neither."

Finear snorted. "Neither was I, luv." He sighed, shaking his head. "None of us were, dahling, but times makes fools of us all." The old man frowned and pointed to the bowl. "Now, get washed before the Lady returns."

"The Lady? Who is the Lady?" Teyla inquired.

Fineas smirked, grinning from ear to ear madly. "Ya mean ya don't know?" The stranger hooted now. "The Lady Birkita, your mistress. You serve her now."

"What?" Rodney snapped. "No, no, no, no, no. We're not slaves."

Fineas snarled through his teeth, and, suddenly, those once blue eyes of his gleamed a honey gold. "You don't understand. You don't get a choice in this matter." He took an advancing step towards Rodney, sending the physicist stumbling back. "None of us had any choice."

"FINEAS!"

The female voice cracked like a whip through the air, freezing everyone in place. Rodney glanced over Fineas's shoulder to see that the once locked doors to the far side of the room had been cracked a tiny sliver, opening into a black void. Something shifted though, in the darkness there.

The stranger whirled about and dropped to his knee, snapping, "Bow." Teyla and Rodney exchanged surprised looks but did not move; Fineas barked once more at them, "Bow! Bow now if you value your pathetic little life!"

"FINEAS!" The woman cried out again.

Rodney fell to his knees in fear as Teyla slunk easily to her own. Fineas's breaths evened out once more as he kept his head down. Yet the Lanteans could not help but keep staring at the thin slip of dark their vantage point offered them to the second room.

"Fineas," the voice crooned, elegant and silky smooth in a way that sounded so very familiar to the Athosian. The unseen speak feigned a sinister pout, "You woke me."

"I'm sorry, my Lady," the man implored, bowing his head lower and shrinking lower into himself somehow as he begged. "But, they're new, and they knew no better."

The voice chortled ever so slightly, lingering with an almost demonic note of satisfaction. "Oh, Fineas, can't keep two little meat people in check?"

"No, no, I can, m'lady. I can!"

"It doesn't seem so," the unseen woman sang.

Rodney piped up to Fineas's defense without knowing entirely why he did it. "It's not his fault."

The voice drew near to the door but remained out of sight. "It speaks without turn."

The physicist blanched. "I... I.... I'm sorry." He bowed his head low, touching his chin to his chest. "I..."

"He did not mean to be rude," Teyla answered for him, her voice even and steady.

The woman in the shadows said not a word for a moment, as though considering the apology, before retreating to the depths of the dark room and calling with a mockery of resignation, "Fineas, bring the male."

Rodney stiffened, but Fineas moved too swiftly, even with his limp. His muscular hands clamped down on the physicist's arms even as he struggled. Teyla rose to his aid, but one of the guards caught her by the wrist and slammed her hard to the ground. The guard jabbed his knee viciously into the woman's back, pinning her to the floor. The other guard unlocked Rodney's chains as Fineas held him with a face that expressed nothing but regret at having been ordered to do this. Teyla almost felt bad for Fineas- almost, but not entirely. Rodney yelped as the male jerked him away to throw him through the doors and pull them shut behind him. Teyla shrieked after him, but the guard merely slammed his fist into her temple soundly, sending her spiraling into unconsciousness.

xxxx

Rodney tumbled into darkness, feeling it swallow him whole, before crashing to the ground. He scrambled to his knees immediately, crawling back to the door and clawing at the handles. The door refused to budge, obviously having been locked on one side of the other. Rodney fumbled for a dead bolt or lock on this side.

"Stop."

Rodney went rigid as the voice called to him in the dark. His hands fell limply to his sides in answer to the command. This was the worst case scenario. The three of them had been separated and caged now. He struggled to recall what Sheppard had told him for situations like this. Stay calm. Do whatever they say. Don't panic. Play along until you find a way to get out of there alive. The physicist shivered, biting his lower lip and willing his hands to stay down.

"Turn, human."

Slowly, hesitantly, Rodney revolved on his knees until he faced the cimmerian shades of the room, his eyes striving desperately to adjust to the pressing dark. As if to answer his need, a spark flared on one side of the room as though a match struck, and a blue lantern was lit. It cast a watery glow about the room, barely enough to illuminate but more than enough to send eerie, towering shadows dancing about the walls.

A darkly cloaked figure stepped from the nothingness towards him, bearing the lantern in his face. A slender, pale hand reached out to the man, and he pressed back. The figure clucked disapprovingly and persisted, grabbing Rodney by the chin to survey him.

"Pathetic," the female whispered. "Absolutely pathetic and utterly useless."

Rodney's pride and spine returned long enough for him to balk, "Hey, I'll have you know I'm the smartest man in two galaxies!"

The resulting strike came faster than Rodney could have expected it, and with tremendous force. It sent him sprawling to the side before the physicist's mind even recognized the injury that accompanied it. The side of his face burnt in three, long lines across his cheek and throbbed with every fearful beat of his heart. His hand shot up, pressing against the wounds and feeling the warmth of his own blood seeping from the gashes. His head swam from the blow, allowing the hand to simply reach down and pluck Rodney up by his collar.

"It will serve you well to remember your place. _You _are _mine_. You will show me every last bit of respect you can muster. You will be silent. Quiet. Obedient." The hissed voice drew near, but Rodney turned his gaze away now, terrified by the proximity implied by a hot breath than stank of iron and blood. "Or you will be very much dead indeed."

The woman opened the door and hurled him back, into the sunlight with ease. For a moment, Rodney crouched there, clutching his injured cheek with one hand, feeling the blood seep between his fingers. He stared in wild eyed panic at the shadows of the blue light room, but the doors creaked shut on ancient hinges once more.

The voice spoke softly before the doors closed entirely. "Oh, and Fineas?"

"Yes, m'lady?" the man whispered timidly.

"Be sure to teach them some manners before tonight."

The doors slammed shut with a click and a lock.

**XXXX**

**Author's Notes: **Zah! It's been ages! I'm sorry I haven't posted in a while, and I'm sorry that this chapter rather sucks. It'll get better again, I promise. I just had a few plot points that needed to occur. Bleh back to bio lecture.


	7. Moonlit Madness

**FEAST OF THE SAMHAIN - MOONLIT MADNESS**

Dog stumbled along the darkened halls, leaning heavily against one of the cool, metallic walls as he staggered painfully along. Every step felt like agony, pure and simple, a hundred unseen daggers slicing through him. Dog grit his teeth and soldiered on with the same stubborn tenacity that had kept him alive so long in the pit, only, this time, survival wasn't what kept him moving. No. Dog knew, licking his lips and steeling his nerves that, this time, he didn't run for survival this time.

The world hummed and pulsed about him with a sort of sweet, intoxicating lull. It sang to Dog, whispering in his ears. At first, Dog tried to ignore it, to shut it out of his mind, but it crooned far too sweetly, too saccharine to him. It enfolded him warmly, welcoming Dog sickly. Another trick, another drug. That was the only thing Dog knew the soothing serenade of electric spark could possibly be, but it remained damned persistent, calling to him.

_"Tell me what you need," _the inhuman voice implored.

The momentary distraction sent Dog crashing into the wall as his uncoordinated and sluggish limbs betrayed him. He took a moment to regroup before shoving hard against the wall with his good hand. He tightened his jaw, pushing off with his free hand while holding his shattered wrist close to him.

_"Tell me what you want."_

xxxx

Ronon Dex and Weylin Canagan moved with a steady and crisp grace together, an easy gait born of years on the hunt with one another. The pair swept over the halls effortlessly. They ran in silence through the long corridors, covering ground swiftly in long, elegant strides, keeping in concert with each other. At the infirmary doors, both paused, if only for a heartbeat to taste the air for Sheppard's scent before carrying on, Weylin slightly leading off along a strange path through the maze of halls and corridors that is Atlantis, Keller and her team trailing behind.

Sheppard's trail was not difficult to follow through the long halls. He'd so carelessly left so many clues. On the wall by an alcove, a blood hand print smeared across in a grizzly brushstroke. A discarded bandage lie in the middle of the hall. And, more than anything else, the entire corridor stank of blood, sweat, and fear.

Ronon nearly jumped out of his skin when he spied Sheppard, lumbering along the walls. He seemed so pale and so tiny in the pristine white gown, almost lost in a way. The Satedan winced when Sheppard must have heard one of them, whipping about on tottering legs and slumping against the wall. Those hazel eyes stared widely and wildly about as the colonel shivered and hunkered down into a corner, whimpering like a cornered animal.

"Sheppard..."

xxxx

Dog threw himself back and into the wall when they called out to him, screwing his eyes shut. It had only been another test, another game. Dog cursed himself. He should have known that when he first escaped so easily from the vet's clutches and slipped away into the night. A lurching and broken sob wrenched its self from Dog's chest when he saw how many of them approached, no matter how slowly and cautiously they drew near. Now they would come for him and the hurting would begin all over again.

He wondered what it might be this time. Another pit with foes masquerading as allies? Whips that sliced through his flesh so very easily and spilt his blood in thick swatches? Drugs that made him scream silently through bittersweet hallucinations bearing false promise of freedom? Perhaps the brand this time, or perhaps, after all this trouble, a new master and a world of new fears. Dog's heart hammered in his chest at the thousands of awful possibilities, fluttering like a battered bird.

_"Tell me what you need..."_

Dog blinked, dumbfounded by the offer burning in the back of his mind and wrapping about his heart. The shadowy figures stepped closer, and Dog wrenched back tighter into the wall, wedging into a corner as the offer lingered so devilishly in his mind. A hulking man knelt before him, speaking softly in droning bass, but Dog heard only the question.

_"What do you need?"_

What _did _he need? Dog wracked his brain for a moment. For a moment, he thought he needed these people, these masters, to get away, to be hurt like he had, just a glimmer of a thought before logic took over, reminding Dog that any hurt inflicted upon the masters would only be magnified and reflected to him. No. As Dog trembled harder, shaking violently he knew what he needed, what he wanted. He hung his head lower.

_"Please..." _he whispered without words in a voice Dog did not remember having.

_"What do you want? Tell me...."_

Dog shivered, jerking away when a hand brushed his shoulder, his mind already reaching to answer. _"I want...."_

"Sheppard?" a booming voice called softly.

_"Yes?"_

When the hand finally connected with Dog's shoulder, his mind shrieked to answer as tears poured down his cheeks. _"I want to die.... please... just let me die.... please..."_

The world quaked around them in response.

xxxx

_"Dr. McKay, we've got a problem."_

When alarms began blaring incessantly all around the physicist, he didn't need any of the perhaps hundred radio calls that came through, piped directly into his ear. He growled in annoyance and ripped the offending thing from his ear, slamming it down on the desk. Rodney didn't need the distraction when Atlantis floundered around him and while Sheppard ran loose and terrified somewhere in the massive maze that was the city. Metallic groans and pops racing through the walls and echoing in the ventilation system only worsened matters.

"Rodney?" an accented voice called to the side.

The physicist blinked at the tablet he'd been staring at for so long. "What do you want, Zelenka?"

"Shield is failing."

Rodney nodded curtly, his fingers alternating between drumming on his tablet and running through his hair. "Already aware of that."

The Czech snatched Rodney by the wrist and gave it a hard shake, snapping the physicist's attention, turning his computer to McKay to display one of the labs completely flooded as papers and tools drifted past. "She is taking on water."

xxxx

_Six years earlier:_

"Rodney!"

Teyla had called as softly as possible granted her urgency and her worry for her friend, but Fineas caught her by the wrist and shook his head slowly, speaking once more with his almost charmingly fatherly drawl. "No. The Lady's spoken." He nodded towards one of the guards. "Go, get yourself a bath an' get dressed. I'll clean 'im up."

Teyla looked hesitantly to Rodney, still clutching his throbbing, bleeding cheek as Fineas gently tried to pry the hand away, but the physicist waved at her. "Go. Just go. Don't want to piss her royal highness off."

Fineas snorted but said nothing, watching with measured tension as Teyla gathered up her set of night blue clothes and white towel. One of the guards unlocked her ankle chains and gestured with a sweeping hand for her to follow out the door. She shot a questioning look to Rodney, but the physicist just nodded. They didn't need any trouble now that they'd been separated from Sheppard, and, so, the Athosian slipped from the room while Fineas settled his attention quite firmly on Rodney. The Lantean didn't miss the worried expression that flickered across the woman's face though as the door was closed behind her.

Rodney hissed bitterly and flinched impulsively as Fineas took hold of his jaw in an impossibly strong grip that rivaled even Ronon's. He wanted to cry out, to whine and bicker, but every time Rodney glared at the man tending to him, his eyes caught sight of the heavy door leading to the darkened bed chamber and to the Lady, suffocating any fight in him. The grizzled servant clucked through his teeth with a sort of studious intent as his eyes roved over the physicist's damaged cheek. His old, blue eyes took in every bit of the deep slashes. A calloused finger probed Rodney's cheek, garnering a harsh wince of pain and a muttered, unintelligible insult from the physicist. Fineas clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth in a chiding almost fatherly manner.

"No needin' stitches," the servant observed in his slow drawl, like something drawn right from the pages of _Gone with the Wind_ or Anne Rice granted the Garou lurking below.

Rodney scowled. "Great, just great. Knowing this backwater little rock and the Garou it's probably crawling with rabies, lyme disease, or, I don't know, canine distemper."

Fineas chortled deep in his throat, a rumbling sort of sound that somehow fit for the weathered man. "They're clean." When Rodney's face betrayed his disbelief, Fineas merely laughed softly and whispered, "Scout's honor."

The physicist blinked in surprise. "What did you say?"

Fineas frowned curtly and went silent, ignoring Rodney in an unmistakable message that the subject be dropped. But Rodney could not, would not. He furrowed his brow and stared intently at Fineas, yet the servant ignored his curious gaze and released his hold of Rodney's jaw to take a small, leather pouch from one of the guards and spill out a small collection of dram bottles. Fineas pursed his lips into a tight, expressionless mask as he carefully opened one of the vials and spread a light, white cream across the gashes.

"They'll scar," Fineas observed tightly. Rodney smirked at how ridiculous it sounded and shook his head, and the servant scoffed with a chiding laugh as he continued to tend to the injuries. "Ah, but the ladies love scars."

Something nagged at the back of Rodney's mind when Fineas said that, and he felt the words crackle in his throat. "The Lady... is she...?"

"Going to kill you?" Fineas supplied with an almost pregnant pause. Rodney shrugged oddly and without any committal; Fineas shook his head and looked down. "The Lady's in a bad mood. She'll get over it."

"She's Garou, isn't she?" Rodney pressed in a hushed whisper.

Fineas closed his eyes solemnly. "Yeah."

Rodney felt a nervous laugh bubble up in his throat. "What a bitch."

Fineas's hand moved faster than the physicist could see, as fast as Talon had in the cell, faster than the Lady had in her bedchambers. He caught Rodney by the throat and squeezed tight. His once weathered and caring gaze glared fiercely and hotly at Rodney as he gasped for breath, his lungs burning with each hoarse inhalation. Rodney reached up, instinctively, grabbing and clawing at Fineas's hand and finding soft, sleek fur there. A Garou. Another. Surrounded by the Garou, hunted by the Garou. They were everywhere and nowhere.

"Don't you ever, EVER, say anything like that about Birkita!" Fineas snarled harshly. "You have NO idea what she's done for you!"

"Sorry....." Rodney croaked, still grasping to pry the servant's muscle knotted hand from his throat.

With just as little warning as the attack its self, the anger melted away from Fineas, leaving nothing but a pained remorse. The servant dropped his hold on McKay to throw himself to the floor in a deep bow, pressing his forehead to the ground. McKay glanced up to see what had startled Fineas so and found the white haired nobleman, Turali Sin'ai, standing inside the doorframe with his entourage, looking rather cross. Fineas glanced to his side and jumped up just long enough to throw an arm about the physicist's shoulders and pull him down into a deep bow, too, his muscles protesting from the sudden flurry of motion.

"Having trouble, dog?" The nobleman crooned.

Fineas shook his head even against the burning carpet. "No, m'lord."

"The Lady?" Sin'ai breathed, his voice husky and full of all sorts of unsavory suggestion.

Rodney glanced to the Garou servant at his side as the muscular arm about him tensed and as Fineas forced his throat to work. "In her chambers, m'lord."

"See that we are not disturbed," Sin'ai ordered as he stepped just past them, his silken robes rustling. When Fineas did not answer, Sin'ai stopped and cuffed the Garou on the side of his head. "Did you hear me, dog?"

Fineas clenched his teeth for a moment before giving another terse nod. "Yes, sir."

Sin'ai slipped into the closed room and shut the doors behind him, leaving his entourage behind. Rodney remained frozen in place where Fineas held him tightly. The servant trembled from an obvious strain and effort not to lunge at the heavy doors, at the guards, at something. Finally, after some time, Fineas loosed his hold on Rodney and shambled to his feet, looking unedge and bothered. He tended to Rodney's wounds in silence, occasionally darting glances to the shut door now guarded by the rogue Wraith. However, Fineas said nothing, not a word, and Rodney did not press.

When Teyla returned, Rodney bathed and dressed. The physicist tried not to say anything, but the Athosian could feel the change on the air between Fineas and Rodney from a comfortable calm to an electric snap. She could hear the soft moans and grunts of effort coming from the other room. The woman raised an eyebrow to question, but Rodney merely shook his head to silence any further discussion in front of Fineas or the entourage.

In the early evening, Turali Sin'ai finally slipped from the bedchambers, garnering deep bows from everyone in the room, even McKay without encouragement from Fineas. Sin'ai circled them like a vulture, stalking about them. Fineas and Teyla tensed, the warriors in them readying for a blow or a good fight. Rodney merely trembled partially fearfully and partially from an early onset of hypoglycemia. There came the rustle of fabric shifting, and a shadow fell over them. None of the three needed to look up to know it was Turali Sin'ai who crouched over them.

"So these are the outworlders?" Sin'ai slipped a finger under Teyla's chin to guide her eyes to his. "The Lady has strange taste." Teyla glowered and swallowed the urge to strike Sin'ai and kill him where he stood, but the nobleman just laughed right in her face. "Defiant, aren't they?"

"They know no better, my lord," Fineas implored, his voice quaking with tightly reined rage.

Sin'ai made a soft sound of disapproval before releasing Teyla and rising to his full height. "Bring them tonight."

"Lord?"

Turali beamed in a way that turned Rodney's stomach. "Perhaps seeing their friend in the pit will break them of their defiance."

With that, Sin'ai left the quarters, accompanied by his entourage and the rogue Wraith. Fineas said nothing, gesturing for both Teyla and Rodney to bow deeper with him. However, once Sin'ai and the guards left and the two other guards took post in the hallway, Fineas approached the door slowly, hesitantly. He curled a hand into a loose fist and wrapped upon the door. There came no reply, however, Fineas eased the door open and slipped inside, shutting and locking the thing behind him.

Teyla looked to Rodney, but he had no answer.

When Fineas finally returned to them, the Garou frowned once more but spoke quietly and distantly. "We need to be gettin' ready."

xxxx

In the afternoon, the Garou grew restless once more, so much as that it bothered Sheppard now. He paced with them, hanging his head in an almost predatory manner, unnerved by how long it had been since he had seen Teyla and Rodney, worried at how he did not know where they were or what had happened to them. He avoided the Garou but stalked in his own circles. Talon lifted his lip to growl at Sheppard as he passed once, but, aside from that, neither said a word.

In the early evening, they came for the Garou and for Sheppard. The colonel allowed the rogue Wraith close, close enough to buckle a collar about his neck like the ones the Garou wore. It took every measure of self control in Sheppard to let someone collar him, let alone a Wraith, but he needed to behave now. Good behavior could yield a false security in the guards and would get him out of there with the other Garou. Only then could Sheppard effectively map out the place they were held, get a good count of the guards, find Teyla and Rodney, and formulate a plan of escape. He nearly bit through the inside of his cheek as the Wraith tightened the black, leather strap about his neck.

Then, it was time to go. Sheppard followed the other Garou's lead as they strode from the cell. He followed obediently. Not because he wanted to. Not because he was afraid. No. Because he had to for Teyla and Rodney, Sheppard behaved like a good little dog, like one of the Garou about him.

He even held his tongue when the rogue Wraith grabbed him by the arm and hurled him forward into the dark, pressing cell with the other Garou and sealed the metal doors behind him. Anonymous but toned and taut arms rubbed against, some tickling with the barest hints of soft fur. Sheppard did not flinch away. He would show no fear and no mercy to the Garou if anything had happened to Teyla and Rodney.

A voice whispered at his side. "Fresh meat?" Sheppard's body clenched up instinctively at the Garou insult, and he said nothing; the voice continued. "I'm Jessup. You?"

Reluctantly, the colonel growled, "Sheppard."

"Sheppard, huh? That's a funny name," Jessup teased in the dark. "This your first fight?" Sheppard shrugged, knowing that the body pressed beside him in the cramped space would feel the shift; he felt Jessup nod in return. "Be careful out there."

Sheppard winced at the concern in the stranger's voice. "You... too."

"Hey, we're in this together, now, aren't we?" the Garou noted. "If we don't stick together and help each other out, who will, y'know?"

And, sourly, the colonel had to agree no matter how much he hated to.

xxxx

Fineas left Teyla and Rodney for a time after he helped them dress in what seemed ceremonial robes before guards fitted the two of them with heavy ankle chains before leaving them. He slipped into the darkened bedchambers with a practiced ease and shut the door behind him, leaving the Lanteans a moment to share. Teyla apprised Rodney of the halls she had mentally mapped out and the guards she had studied, ever on edge and every searching for escape, while Rodney relayed the curious tale of what had happened in the afternoon between him and Fineas. Teyla nodded slowly, letting the story sink in an assimilate with the other mental notes she had taken on this strange world.

In short time, Fineas returned for them, but the Garou wasn't alone. Behind him, she glided on barely audible footsteps, a traceless walk. Lady Birkita. Dark, velveteen robes encircled her, concealing her. A heavy hood hung over her face, hiding her features from them. Fineas nodded to the two humans for them to bow to her well, but the elegant Garou just stepped about them without noticing.

And, then, she spoke with the most delicate and tiniest of voices. "Come, Fineas."

Fineas jerked his head in her direction, coaxing Teyla and Rodney to their feet, the hefty chains about their ankles jangling with each step. Rodney complied out of fear, his neck still tender from where the weathered Garou had held him, but the Athosian walked tall, her head held high and proud. She studied every inch of this stone palace as they walked, memorizing each corridor and hall marked by hanging tapestries of monsters and demons like the Garou. Handmaidens in a burgundy so deep it appeared less like dye and more like dried blood slipped into pace behind the Lady, while heavily armed guards moved easily into place to flank them. The guards seemed focused on Rodney and Teyla while the unfettered Fineas was ignored by large as he limped along, obviously having been deemed harmless long ago.

And, then, without warning, the dark, cloistered and torch lit halls opened to a wide, yawning space. Rodney nearly drew a gasp when he saw what sprawled before them. Stars spread in a dazzling array across the twilight heavens. The moon hung high and lazy in the sky, nearly full. However, with a note of dismay, Rodney spied a smaller, second moon slipping along the same track, trailing the first one. Lothlorien had only one moon; they had been taken off world somewhere.

They stood in a private box of some sort in what appeared like a Roman colosseum, complete with high banks of stadium seating packed with cheering people of various classes and trades judging by their clothes. Below them spread a dusty circle of sand, caked in dark red, almost brown in places. And, before them sat two stone thrones. At the side of one stood the rogue Wraith. The Wraith gently touched at someone in the chair and stepped back. Turali Sin'ai stood and beamed radiantly, outstretching his arms. The Lady brushed past the Wraith to embrace her lord, her liege. She leaned close, in what Rodney assumed was planting a chaste kiss upon Sin'ai's cheek, before the two nobles took their seats.

Teyla and Rodney stood reluctantly behind her chair, staring down over the sand pit, unsure of what to say or do but taking their cue from Fineas to keep silent and still as death. As they did, the heavy iron doors at one side of the arena were swung open and the Garou came filing out. Lady Birkita's pale hand tensed on the stone arm to her throne as they strode out, Talon at their lead. At the end of the group stalked Sheppard, eyes defiant and angry but a collar about his neck like one of the Garou. Sheppard's eyes caught them in the private box. Teyla stiffened, bristling like one of the wolves, but the colonel shook his head, cautioning for patience as he took his place in the long line of warriors before the private box. The Lady turned and, while Rodney could not see her eyes, he knew she looked expectantly to them. Fineas gestured for Rodney and Teyla to kneel with him at her side to watch.

When Rodney did not comply at first, Fineas leaned close to McKay, so close that he could smell the musk of the man, his voice dropping to the deadliest of hisses as he spoke words for him alone, "If you ever want to see Canada ever again, you _will _learn to behave yourself."

Rodney blinked in surprise as the servant slipped away from his side once more. He trembled in shock from the statement. How could Fineas have known? As if in answer, Fineas flashed his blue eyes to their frigid mistress, and Rodney felt those icy gaze of the Lady roving over him. The jacket from his uniform. It had a small Canadian flag embroidered on the sleeve in crisp, cheery red, but how could any of the Pegasus natives know know that the maple leaf signified anything aside from a decorative emblem? Or even know the name of the specific country, a country they had never spoken of before? The grizzled man shot him a warning glare, a curt frown that spoke volumes of danger from all sides. From Turali Sin'ai before them in his shimmering robes. From the Lady Birkita shrouded in her dark robes. From the throngs of guards posted at attention throughout the palace and arena and the Wraith in the private box with them. From everywhere. _Do not question. Not here. Not now. _It was a warning in every sense of the word, one which Rodney took to heart as he swallowed convulsively.

Teyla's hand slipped to his as they slid to their knees and squeezed reassuringly. She wouldn't let anything happen to him so long as she kept close to his side. Fineas nodded encouragingly even as Lady Birkita stood and began to step lightly down a curled staircase to the side to the arena below. Fineas held a hand to them, palm flat, halting Teyla and Rodney from joining, but he followed.

Rodney tensed. Nothing about this felt right at all.

xxxx

Sheppard tensed, feeling as though something utterly dreadful was about to unfold right there around him. He gave a cautious, sidelong glance down the line to Talon. The hulking man caught the motion out of the corner of his honey colored, predatory eyes and flashed a devilish, toothy grin at Sheppard mockingly and threateningly. The colonel groaned inwardly as he came to the grim conclusion that his initial suspicions had been correct; the big Garou would be after him in this. John balled his hands into tight fists, steeling himself for the fight he knew would be coming from the champion.

Movement in Turali Sin'ai's private box above them stole Sheppard's attention as a new figure appeared above the dirt and dust arena. It was the noblewoman who had accompanied Turali Sin'ai, shucking off her heavy robes as she descended to the arena. He vaguely noted all eyes turning to this newcomer as she- for it was a female, thin, moon white, lithe, and elegantly delicate in every way- who appeared at the balcony overhanging the pit. Long, straight locks of shockingly pale hair, so light it seemed almost white, if such a thing were possible, framed her fair face with its pleasantly pointed and almost cat like features. Icy eyes gazed down upon the men before the box. She seemed so young and so innocent amidst all the chaos, an appearance that was only enhanced by her embroidered, silken dress in a color that perfectly matched her eyes. She held out her hands, palms skyward to the heavens above.

Sheppard furrowed his brow, but, then, she spoke, in a soft voice that could break a thousand hearts and froze any thoughts dancing in his mind. "Worthy warriors." She lifted her gaze to the heavens and the lingering twilight. "To the first blood."

The men down the line nodded slowly; the warrior beside Sheppard noted his confusion and, in what could have been pity, shifted and leaned slightly to the colonel, whispering in the voice Sheppard knew to be Jessup, "At first blood, you're out."

Sheppard gave his own nod now. Jessup did not stand nearly as tall nor as bulky as Talon or some of the other Garou, but he had a wiry body matching Sheppard's own. The colonel hoped silently that Jessup really would keep to his word and watch his back with the impending threat of Talon coming for him.

The Garou beside him smirked. "If you don't fight, you don't eat."

Now, Sheppard understood the gravity of his situation. He hungered after the long day or more without food save the rabbit that had been declared unfit for consumption by McKay for fear of salmonella, his stomach growling at the thought or the tiny carcass now. He needed to eat, much as any of the others there if he were going to stay strong enough to hope to continue to perform at least passing fair to make it long enough for Atlantis to find his team. The colonel gave a dip of his head again in bitter acknowledgment.

The girl stepped down from her place, and two of Sin'ai's goons allowed her to pass the guarded steps to the ground before. She moved with an entourage of female attendants, each clad in dark robes of burgundy, along with the rogue Wraith. The girl moved with a cool grace on bare feet, approaching the line of Garou to the far end from John. Her hand maidens brought forth a gleaming bowl of white, translucent material that somewhat reminded the colonel of the singing bowls he'd seen on one or two planets before. The pale girl took a flask of something so darkly red it was almost black from one of her attendants and poured it into the bowl. A grizzled servant of a man hobbled from the side of the area, barely able to lift his head, but he produced a live rabbit with antlers and handed it to this strange, pale creature. The girl took the rabbit and held it by its hind feet as a skilled hunter might, despite its squirming and bucking. She produced a small dagger from somewhere on her dress and quickly, efficiently, slit the rabbit's throat over the bowl, letting the blood drip into the dark liquid until it stopped. The girl handed the carcass over to one of her attendants before taking a small pinch of dirt from the arena and adding it to the concoction. She whispered something in a voice too soft for John to hear. Then, she took the bowl to each of them down the line and held it for them to each take a small lap of, starting with Talon. The Garou bowed deeply to her as she passed.

When the girl came to John and rested those ice cold eyes upon him, the colonel couldn't help but gape at how utterly pale and almost colorlessly albino she seemed, right down to lips that were barely a blushing pink tint. And her eyes. How strange and unsettling they were, sharp and feral. One a faint green, the other a frozen blue so light it was almost white. She held the bowl with its strange contents up to John, bowing her head slightly in an almost reverent gesture. As the dark settled about them and Sheppard cast a wary glance to the viscous liquid, it seemed darker and inky black now, like oil. He cocked an eyebrow to the girl before him.

Her words were a prayer and a request at the same time. "Drink of the moon."

Something about her tone, as well as the glares of all the men down the line along with the guards, bade John to drink. He bent carefully down, keeping one eye always upon the muscle bound men to his side as he dipped his tongue to the liquid and drew up a droplet as the others had like an animal. Sheppard had initially expected the drink to be stomach turning and utterly revolting. The liquid was still warm with the rabbit blood, but it had a peppery taste, like an excellent merlot, well aged and breathed. It seemed to sing down his throat and along all of his muscles, refreshingly wet upon his parched palette.

"Thank you," John whispered.

The girl smiled with an almost sinister serenity and stepped back with her attendants, the bowl in her hands. When she ascended back to the private box, the girl held the bowl to her lips and drank down what remained of the contents to lift it above her head. A single, crimson droplet beaded at her lips rolled down her pale neck. As she did, the sky went dark and the torches were lit about them. The girl let out a wild, wolf like howl, and the men down the line answered with their own, keening calls, as though a wolf pack responding to their alpha. The girl trembled for a moment, and, for just a second, John thought he saw hesitation and perhaps fear in her eyes. However, that melted away when the girl threw the bowl aside, replaced by a wild, lusty frenzy to her expression. The crowds roared in delight.

The men beside him threw themselves down to the ground, but, when their heads rose to howl again, they were not sounds from human lips, but some strange mix of wolf and human in various tones, rising to meet the thunderous clamoring of the audience. As he stood, surprised by that turn of events, the men all took a step back as though in a practiced dance. Without warning, and before Sheppard's mind could even sort out what had happened, a black blur shot down from the far end of the line at him, knocking him to the ground with a tremendous force. His cheek felt hot and, as his fingers rose to inspect it, wet.

Sheppard glanced up to see Talon glowering over him, his hand furred, clawed, and stained scarlet; the massive half man and half wolf in an ebony pelt announced in a throaty growl, "First blood."

xxxx

Rodney gasped when the Garou shot down the line for Sheppard with an inhuman speed, when his clawed hand connected with the colonel and sent him flying to the ground. Teyla just squeezed her hand tighter about Rodney's, urging silence and stillness. The colonel did not need them getting him into any trouble, and, with all the guards posted all about the arena, Teyla knew they had no hope of escaping right then and there in the arena. The Athosian would play this carefully, very carefully if they were to get out of this alive, which meant keeping the easily frightening and impulsive McKay in line.

"Cheater," the colonel snapped, pressing his hand against his cheek to stem the bleeding.

Talon turned to the line behind him and to the rogue Wraith before displaying his blood streaked claws and asserting once more, "First blood."

Rodney winced at the sight of the blood, his own wounds throbbing in sympathy as the colonel wiped the crimson from his hand and onto the thigh of his pants. Talon beamed victoriously at the booth. The Lady stepped forward, her head held high in the night, so pale it seemed a ghostly white, her hands resting lightly upon the carved stone rail. She seemed ready to give a verdict when Sheppard lunged, ducking his shoulder low and hurling his body weight into the small of Talon's spine. The colonel tackled the Garou to the ground, sending Rodney's and Teyla's hearts leaping.

Talon, however, moved swiftly, rolling to his back and kicking up with his legs, knocking Sheppard from him, snarling, "I drew first blood."

Turali Sin'ai leaned close to Birkita, his voice an elegantly practiced whisper. "A cheater, Lady Birkita. How do you find?"

The pale creature touched her heart for a moment, as though stilling herself, before raising those pale eyes once more, smiling almost wistful as she gave a small nod to Talon. "Let them mete the justice they see fit."

Sin'ai nodded and peered to the Wraith at the arena below. "To submission or death."

The Wraith sneered.

Rodney groaned, unable to suppress it now.

xxxx

Talon was fast, Sheppard had to grant him that. For all his weight and muscle, the Garou moved with a stealthy sort of grace, even as his bones popped with sickening cracks into and out of natural, human angles. Fur spread down his arms as his fingernails grew once more to lengthened claws. The Garou's eyes glimmered a golden, honey color in the pale light, the eyes of a predator. Sheppard hunched down low, lowering his center of gravity, like sparring with Ronon. Big combatants like Ronon and Talon could easily use their mass and their strength to their advantage over smaller fighters like Sheppard, throwing them off their balance or just picking them up. Sheppard would have to fight smart, keep low to the ground, and hope to catch the clearly seasoned warrior off guard.

To his surprise, however, for whatever Jessup had promised, the other Garou hung back, all of them, forming a loose circle around them. When Talon jumped forward, forcing Sheppard back a step, the nearest Garou would swing with their claws or snap with canine jaws and pointed teeth. Sheppard grit his teeth at the betrayal, knowing he should have never dared hope Jessup or any of the Garou would show any sort of mercy in this.

Talon came for him again, throwing his weight into Sheppard's shoulders and tackling him down to the shockingly hard sand, knocking the wind from his lungs in a venting, wracked cough as his ribs protested violently. Talon sneered, flashing a toothy grin as his fangs grew where normal teeth had once been. Sheppard writhed under the bulky weight, twisting and kicking, but Talon bore down with claws, one hand digging into his shoulder while another slipped down to the colonel's chest. Sheppard tightened his muscles up, but even that was not enough when the Garou pressed down menacingly upon the bruises and possible breaks from the beating the guards had doled out just that afternoon. Sheppard bite back a yelp as his hands flailed out for something anything in the snapped forward so swiftly that John thought those gnashing teeth would lop his head clean off, twisting to the side as though for his neck or maybe his ear. The colonel threw his head to the side and into Talon's, striking the Garou so hard that sparks danced across his own eyes.

Talon rolled away, shaking his head to shuffle loose his disorientation. Sheppard took that as his opportunity to move, scrambling across the loose, heavy sand to swing at Talon. This was his chance, his moment. Every fiber in his body, every nerve, every inch of him sang of a primal wild as adrenaline coursed through his body like liquid lightning and electric sizzle. He collided sharply with Talon, clawing his arms around the Garou's neck and catching the beast in a choke hold, applying instant pressure upon his opponent's throat.

The Garou growled, but Sheppard pressed harder, snarling into Talon's ears. "I don't want to kill you."

"Nor I, you," Talon snapped back curtly, bucking in Sheppard's hold.

"Why don't you just submit?"

As if in answer, Talon jerked in Sheppard's hold, his inhuman hands clawing at Sheppard's arm but not cutting. The colonel gripped tighter, crushing down on Talon's windpipe and garnering a canine whine from the Garou. John did not feel any satisfaction from it however.

Sheppard's face scrunched angrily. "You don't have to do this."

"_I _do. _You _don't," the Garou bickered back.

The colonel tightened down on Talon's throat as grunted, "You aren't giving me much choice."

"You neither," Talon hissed.

There came a chilling series of snaps and a venting howl that Sheppard recognized all too clearly as the muscles bubbled and roiled beneath him. Fabric ripped and tore as a body no longer meant to occupy the human clothes burst forth. The colonel stiffened, holding tighter as the shape beneath him shifted and changed, as fur sprouted and trailed his arms, as a tail swatted at him, and as a once human head reared back into a wolfish snout. The other Garou howled loudly about them in keening tones as the audience cheered to a riotous uproar. And, then, the wolf made its move, springing back on its hind legs and throwing the two of them onto the ground. Talon landed hard on Sheppard's ribs, sending white hot pain flaring through the colonel. The wolf twisted, breaking Sheppard's grip and slipping away for but a moment to move away enough to charge.

The last thing Sheppard saw was a massive paw swinging to his head.

xxxx

Rodney gripped Teyla's hand with a white-knuckled hold as Sheppard slumped to the arena floor and the ebony wolf that had been Talon loomed over his prone form threateningly. Those golden, canine eyes turned up to the Lady from all the wolves, all questioning and all waiting. Talon turned his head down, opening his jaws and taking Sheppard lightly about the neck, pressing his teeth in enough to cause small indentations but not enough to break skin. The whole world slowed and stilled to an earth shattering silence as the eyes of Garou and audience alike fell to the Lady Birkita at her place above the pit; every breath was held in an awed hush.

"Lady Birkita," Turali Sin'ai purred at her side. "Your verdict?"

The pale girl said nothing for a moment, closing her eyes as though to deliberate.

"A cheat, Lady," Sin'ai reminded her, pressing her for an answer.

Finally, the girl opened her watery eyes and pressed her lips into a frown. "I am the Law. Not you." Her frail voice grew strong and stern as she spoke down to Talon and the creatures in the pit that no longer looked anywhere near human but not quite wolf either. "Justice is mine to seek, not yours, Talon. Let the human go." The crowd began to boo and jeer her, obviously eager for blood, but a quick, silencing hand from Birkita sent visible shivers through the audience. "You shall face him tomorrow to the death, my warrior."

The crowd erupted even as Teyla and Rodney's hearts fell and as a pair of guards dragged Sheppard from the pit. They had seen how easily Talon had taken down Sheppard in a one on one fight. There was no way that Sheppard could survive a second round against the Garou, against any of the Garou for that matter.

With that settled, Birkita nodded to the waiting wolves with a capricious wave of her hand. "Continue."

The wolves snarled and leapt for one another, but neither Rodney nor Teyla paid any attention now to that. They did not see who was knocked out and in what order, as first blood was drawn again and again. When one of the Garou, the younger one that had stood beside Sheppard and whispered into his ear was clearly mortally wounded, they saw not his youthful face, but Sheppard's. Neither spied the sinuous and longing way Sin'ai stroked his hand down Birkita's arm as she continued to preside over the fight. They saw only a desperate need in one another to get out of there and fast.

When the fight was over and the crowd violently clamored over their hero, their champion, Talon, Turali Sin'ai drew closed to Birkita once more, his hand snaking about hers suggestively. "I do love a good, fight, don't you?"

What Teyla did see was the way Fineas tightened up beside her, as Lady Birkita replied, "Of course, my lord." The Lady gave a tiny beaconing wave of her hand towards Fineas and breathed in his ear. "Take them to the servants quarters for the night. Make sure they are settled."

"Of course, my lady," Fineas responded tightly, giving her arm a tiny pinch.

Those icy and odd eyes of hers betrayed her expression as Birkita tried to ignore him. Teyla noted it but tried not to appear as if she had seen it even as Fineas helped both her and Rodney to their feet. They followed his shuffling, hobbling gait from the box escorted by guards down, deep into the bowels of the keep, but not nearly as deep as the prison of the Garou, to a series of cells with the doors open and loosely guarded by a pair of lightly armed soldiers. Fineas took them to one of the cells with two bunks where a guard unlocked their ankle chains.

"You two stay here the night. Get some rest."

xxxx

".... tonight..."

Sheppard came to with a start and lurching pit in his stomach. The last thing he remembered was Talon in the pit coming for him with a body that was entirely wolf, sleeker and much more elegant that Ronon's bludgeoned in between form. Now he was in the dark cell, surrounding by the skulking shadows of the Garou about him. He drew a sharp breath, eliciting a whole new wave of agony from his ribs and chest. Sheppard rolled to his side and coughed as his stomach threatened to revolt but steadied himself.

".... has to be...."

Someone in the dark, a Garou whispered with another, but it was too soft to waste any time to truly make any sense of it. He needed to think and to be calm, to sort things out. His mind carefully counted the footsteps to the arena and the guards there. He picked out what details he remembered and took them all into account, including the awful looking, angry and red gashes down McKay's cheek that his now mirrored. There were hundreds of guards everywhere in this place, and the rogue Wraith always lurking, as he did with the Lady with Teyla and Rodney at her side. The odds just kept getting worse and worse.

The colonel was about to let the lull of sleep reclaim him for a little while long when a hand clamped down upon his mouth.

**XXX**

**XXXXX**

**XXX**

**Author's Notes: **Sorry it's been so long. The Kathain Bowen person has been very busy preparing for the Solstice and Christmas as well as taking finals _AND _working on an additional piece that was *supposed* to be a one shot and is steadily growing into an evil-mind-swallowing story. Happy winter holidays!


	8. Sweet Symphony

**FEAST OF THE SAMHAIN - SWEET SYMPHONY**

Alarms blared throughout Atlantis as the city crippled itself from within. They were taking on too much water too swiftly, and Atlantis lurched with a metallic groan under the pressure. Radek Zelenka swore in a barrage of Czech as he labored over his console, pecking away furiously away at the keys. McKay largely ignored the profane tirade, focusing on his own work to reroute water pumps as the city continued to flood itself.

"Cannot get bilge pumps to respond," Radek spat under his breath as he continued to bang away at his console.

Suddenly, something clattered to Rodney's side. The physicist turned, glancing to the floor beside him to spy a pen stylus that had fallen off the floor. He frowned in annoyance, retrieved the object and set it back on the table beside him before returning to his work. The same, almost cheerful sound of plastic hitting the floor startled McKay again. He froze and swallowed hard before giving another look to his side and finding the same stylus on the floor, rolling ever so slowly away.

Radek droned on with something in his ear, an annoying sort of buzzing sound that Rodney flitted away with a wave of his hand. "Shh. Shhhh!"

The Czech held his tongue, watching curiously as Rodney took the stylus and set it on the far side of the desk. Almost immediately, the stylus began to roll slowly and sinuously towards McKay. The eyes on both scientists went wide at the pen began to pick up speed before falling with a plop into McKay's lap.

Radek blinked in shock. "She is listing."

Rodney hacked away at his tablet for a second, drawing up various windows. "Eleven point two three degree shift towards East Pier." The physicist gulped before bellowing at Radek, "Reconfigure ballast, now!"

The Czech furrowed his brow. "And?"

Rodney sighed heavily. "And, then, I find the source of this whole mess and undo it. So, if it's too much to ask, a little peace and quiet please? The master is at work."

xxxx

Ronon instantly regretted touching Sheppard's shoulder as the colonel's body wracked with convulsive sobs. The Satedan and the Garou had easily located the wandering man within minutes of discovering the disappearance. Upon hearing them, Sheppard had thrust himself into a corner, pressing tightly into the wall as though trying desperately to just disappear; Ronon had placed a gentle hand upon the colonel, hoping to comfort him but garnering an entirely opposite effect than intended. Sheppard had jerked back and feebly batted the hand away in terror, instantly launching into an almost convulsive trembling in silent but debilitating sobs as tears rolled down his cheeks.

The Runner hadn't the time, however, to do anything about it at that precise moment as Atlantis gave a suddenly lurch, the floor bucking beneath him wildly. The abrupt shift in terrain sent Weylin instinctively down to his hands, crouching tensely beside the Satedan in a more secure and reassuring stance for his unique kind. Sheppard gave a silent cry of panic that sounded more like a sharp exhalation, although, whether from the sudden motion of Atlantis or Weylin, Ronon could not tell. The Satedan almost tumbled to the floor as well.

Ronon tapped the radio at his ear. "Keller?"

_"Yes, Ronon?" _she instantly replied.

"I've got him," the Satedan stated simply and roughly as Atlantis gave another shudder, sending the clearly terrified colonel pressing harder into his niche.

The doctor breathed an audible sigh of relief over the radio. _"What's his condition?"_

Ronon's gaze swept over the mangled and misshapen wrist no longer bound by a cast, taking in the uncomfortable, heaving breaths, making a quick survey before honestly answering, "Rough."

Atlantis gave another shift, sending something crashing in a far off room as the floor tilted to a new extreme. Sheppard wheezed again in what may have been another muted scream of fear, scuttling along the length of the wall and away from Ronon in an uncoordinated, clawing crawl. His eyes were wide and unfocused in unadulterated horror as his breathes ratcheted up a notch to an uncontrolled panting. Ronon's hands shot out in a flash, snatching the injured man by his good wrist and holding tight. Occasionally, his breath hitched in his tight, battered chest as he cried. Sheppard gulped desperately between sobs, sucking down mouthfuls of air as he pulled torpidly against the Satedan's hold, too weak and exhausted from his brief escape to put up much of a struggle. The city gave another jolt, and Sheppard's sweat slicked wrist slipped from Ronon's grasp. The colonel backed along the wall unsteadily, already pale and quivering from the effort.

"McKay," Ronon growled over his radio.

_"Working on it."_

xxxx

The alarms had become nothing more than an irritation now, between the blaring klaxons and the flashing lights. A male voice spoke in gentle but carefully annunciated Ancient in booming base over the loudspeakers, advising an expedient but ordered and calm evacuation out of the slowly sinking city through any safe means. Judging by flurry of activity about the jumper bay, Woosley concurred with the evenly toned warning.

Rodney McKay, however, refused to leave his terminal. He had been tracking the electrical and programming disturbances through the city's primary systems to pinpoint the source of the disturbances that had led to the flooding and shield failure. He licked his lips, knowing just how close he was to finding it. Once located, the offending terminal could be isolated and cut off from the major systems, carefully but simply excised like a malignant tumor. So close.

The lights flickered over his head as the city gave a distressing metallic groan accompanied by an unnerving, almost diabolically chipper popping before giving way to a light, trickling sound. The physicist glanced up to his companion, Radek, spying something downright awful. A thin dribble of clear liquid streamed down the wall in a twisting, turning rivulet, glistening in the light of the lab.

Radek approached slowly, dabbing his fingertips in the liquid, sniffing them, and touching them to his tongue. "Sea water."

Rodney turned his attention to the narrow windows that flank the far wall, now darkened by the steadily rising waterline; McKay swallowed hard. "Radek, get out of here."

"Not yet," the Czech argued.

McKay shook his head. "Go on. Get out of here. Evacuate with everyone else."

Radek swore in his native tongue and smiled almost devilishly. "And let you get all the credit for saving the city? Never."

The physicist returned his attention to the tablet. "Suit yourself if we die a horrible, horrible death of drowning." He licked his lips again and ran his fingers through his hair nervously before blinking in shock. "It's not a terminal...." The man croaked in surprise, leaning over his computer to enhance the signal tracking. "Oh, no. Oh, this is _not _good." McKay tapping his radio. "Ronon! Ronon, do you read me?!?!"

_"I read you, McKay," _the Satedan called back.

"IT'S SHEPPARD! HE'S DOING IT!"

xxxx

Dog had sidled along the wall as far as possible before his body sagged beneath him in exhaustion. He slipped to the ground, still reaching, still clawing desperately to get away. His muscles ached and throbbed in rolling pangs, burning throughout in a new agony. And, still, for all his efforts, Dog couldn't get away, not ever. The world shifted about him once more, sending waves of churning nausea and tight, knotted cramps in his stomach. Dog's broken, battered body betrays him at every turn. As he cried white hot tears, Dog curled up on his side, hugging his arms to him, waiting for merciful death to come steal him away as it had promised in whispered sweet nothings in the back of his mind.

Yet the two massive, blurred figures before him did not haul him up, did not kick or punch or yell. One spoke in a rumbling, deep tone while the other said nothing. The waiting became an agony in its own right as Dog struggled to steal himself for the eventual blow he knew would come in retribution for his failed escape attempt. They toyed with him through this waiting, trying to bait him into a false sense that no punishment would come, but Dog knew better. He had played this game several times before, enough to know that he would always, _always _be on the losing side no matter what the circumstances of play. Dog screwed his eyes shut, not wanting to see it when these two strangers gave up with their little game.

"IT'S SHEPPARD! HE'S DOING IT!" A tinny voice screeched like nails on a chalk board, cutting right through Dog and sending him flinching.

The big man closest to him swore in a low growl. A warm weight fell upon Dog's shoulder, but the shivering, huddled Dog refused to open his eyes. He clenched his teeth in preparation for the torture to come.

_"Don't think. Don't feel. Don't think. Just let them. Just....." _

"Sheppard," the man spoke, almost unsure by the inflection. "Sheppard?"

Dog balled up as tight as his bruised and shattered body would allow, biting down hard on his lower lip until a coppery tang splashed upon his tongue, constantly cycling over a litany of attempted self-comfort. _"It'll be over soon. It will. Just don't feel. Don't think. Just let them. Be a good dog."_

The warm hand hesitantly rubs Dog's shoulder in a mock of soothing as the voice went on. "It's okay. You're safe. You're home." The voice rang with tension as a red, flashing glow penetrated Dog's clamped shut eyelids. "Sheppard, I need you to calm down. You need to calm down now..."

Dog shuddered at the vile, awful lies, rubbing his forehead roughly against the cool floor and blocking out the world the only way he knew how, by shrieking over and over in his mind the last, soul-crushing apology he had ever uttered to any of his masters.

_"I'LL BE A GOOD DOG!"_

The big man swore once more. "You're not making this easy."

Dog tightened, but the hand feel away. There came a sharp, electric tang as red light flickered across his vision. A quick, electric pain rewarded Dog for his wait in, flushing him with the almost sickening knowledge that these new masters were exactly like his former masters no matter how they pretended otherwise. Then, there was nothing. Blissful, merciful, beloved, encompassing, embracing void.

As the nothingness took him, a wistful, relieved sigh slipped from Dog's lips.

xxxx

_Six years earlier:_

"Hey. Hey. Wake up."

It was in the middle of the night when Teyla and Rodney were awoken to the jab of a pointed finger and the sight of Fineas crouching between their beds and gripping their shoulders, shaking swiftly. Rodney rolled to his side, groaning, but the Garou pressed a finger to his lips, silencing them. Teyla stood at the ready, tense and waiting, slipping out from under Fineas's hand and to the back of the cell as though preparing for a fight. There was a warning to the serious and stolid expression on the servant's face.

When Fineas spoke, it was with a desperate, clinging need. "Answer me and answer me honestly. How'd y'all get here?"

"Stargate," Rodney instantly replied without any hesitation. "Ring of the Ancestors, whatever you want to call it." When Fineas showed no signs of recollection, furrowing his brow and shaking his head, Rodney expanded on it quickly in explanation, "Big circle thing, bunch of lights on it, takes you to different worlds. Ringing any bells?"

The Garou shook his head and Teyla's heart nearly fell until Fineas went on, "Traveled them, never knew where was safe."

"Never mind that," Rodney interrupted in a panicky voice. "How did you get here?" Fineas did not answer, and the physicist pressed, blurting out, "You knew about Canada." He pointed an accusing finger directly in the Garou's face, ignoring the fact that Fineas could probably snap the digit right off in a heartbeat. "You knew. You're from Earth, aren't you?"

Fineas did not answer again, so Teyla asked diplomatically in her soft, delicate voice, "Fineas, is there a Stargate near here?"

"Yeah, couple'a miles, though." The Garou stood abruptly with a quick nod of his head before peering out of the cell and inhaling deeply, studying the scents about them like a wolf. "C'mon, we'd better get while the gettin's good."

"We cannot leave without our friend," Teyla stated rather firmly.

Fineas smirked. "Figured that, dahling."

xxxx

Sheppard thrashed against the hand that held him down even as golden, honey colored eyes stared down at him. His vision adjusted enough in the dark to recognize the chiseled features and the locks of ebony hair trailing down to his face. Talon. The big Garou had come back for an early round two. Sheppard's heart sped a notch as he twisted against the cold, gripping stone floor.

"Remember that I held your life in my hands and didn't take it." Talon hissed as he pressed a finger to Sheppard's lips. The wolf leaned closely and breathed, "You want to get out of here?" Sheppard nodded under the Garou's pressing weight, and Talon's lips curled into a faint smile, not threatening, not mocking, but somehow friendly and cautious. "Don't scream."

Sheppard obeyed as the Garou slid from him, releasing him. "What do you want?"

Talon didn't answer. He kept darting glances to the Garou around them, dozing in the cell, or, rather, judging by the glinted slits of their eyes feigning slumber. He kept an ear cocked to the side. When Sheppard opened his mouth to argue, to question, Talon gave a quick shake of his head, tousling his black locks. The hulking Garou waited for something for a moment before jumping to his feet and snatching Sheppard by the collar, hauling him up and dragging him to the door. Sheppard swatted at Talon, but the big wolf merely dropped his hold at the cell door.

Talon craned his neck to the side, studying the sound, and Sheppard held his breath. Footsteps. The Garou closed his eyes, surveying the noises of feet upon stone as Sheppard now strained to hear as well. Two of the footsteps he recognized well as Teyla and Rodney. One of the other sets, a sort of uneven hobbling must have belonged to the servant that had been with them. There were other sounds of guards accompanying them, the creaking of leather and the jingle of keys. Sheppard glanced curiously to Talon, but the Garou pressed a finger to his lips once more as the footsteps hurried closer. The Garou reached out with his other hand to hold Sheppard up close against the wall as the footsteps drew near.

"Why are you doing this?"

"We've been waiting." The Garou closed his eyes, clenching his fist. "Please. We just want to go home."

There was something painful and longing to the way the Garou said "we" and "home." Sheppard idly wondered how long it had been since the wolf had seen whatever home he truly hailed from, how long Talon had fought in the pit at Turali Sin'ai's beck and call. His mind slipped over the words, pondering the "we" part and running through any number of worlds, Lothlorien included, that could have been the Garou's true home. Something was not right in so many ways that it downright irked the colonel. So many questions, so few answers, and such little time as the footsteps echoed down the seemingly endless corridor of the cells.

And, as much as Sheppard truly wanted to just slug the beast at his side, he could not. He held tight to his annoyance and confusion as best as possible. Keller needed the Garou's blood, their DNA, to even hope to cure Ronon. This particular wolf, no matter how distasteful, seemed to be up and volunteering to oblige in escape. If he played it right, Sheppard knew he could get Talon back to Atlantis with a one way ticket to the infirmary and a date with Keller's many needles and tests.

"So who are you, really?" The colonel inquired, bothered by the sudden seeming trust and the tentative alliance with someone he could have sworn was his enemy.

Talon leered close to Sheppard, his voice a deep rumble. "Name's Weylin."

"Sheppard."

"Pleasure," the Garou sniffed vaguely before dropping his head again to study the sounds. "Two guards coming."

Sheppard did not need any further words of encouragement or caution. Weylin - or Talon, or whatever his name was - had spoken with the same authoritative tone he had so often used himself with his team. The Garou turned to Sheppard, his eyes vacant but studying as his ears pricked to the sounds. Sheppard drew a deep breath and balled his fists, ready to fight.

"-most sincere apologies," a voice cowed to the guards. "But the Lady was most insistent..."

A gruff sound followed, a guard disdainfully ignoring the pleading apologies from the male voice that Sheppard did not recognize. The Garou pressed him closer into the shadows, in a deep patch of blind spot from the cell door. However, from their place, Sheppard could see far too well. The old man, Teyla, Rodney, and two guards. Teyla and Rodney kept their heads bowed and their hands clasped like good little servants while one of the guards dipped his head to open the lock, fumbling with the keys. The shuffling old man took a step back, just enough to slip beside the other guard. Rodney and Teyla said nothing, did nothing, but wait.

Sheppard drew a deep breath as the keys turned in the lock and the Garou moved from his side. Talon - Weylin, whatever - moved with the same lightning speed as he had in the pit, the same speed the grizzled servant moved with. Weylin lunged forward, his clawed hands slashing between the bars and through both the guard's throat and stomach while the old servant grasped the other guard's head and turned it sharply to snap the neck. The older man lowered his dead quarry to the ground as a slick pile of intestines tumbled from Weylin's prey and blood bubbled from the gashes across his neck. Rodney flinched at the sight, his face going green, but Teyla moved swiftly, reaching for the key to unbolt the door.

"Colonel?"

Sheppard stepped carefully from the shadows, mindful of the Garou at his side and the others scrambling to their feet having abandoned the pretense of sleep. "I'm here."

Rodney nervously glanced down the long length of corridor as the other wolves began to make their own way out, moving silent and stealthy. "Well, this is a lovely reunion and all, but we should probably be going and making our grand escape, too, before any guards come running."

"No," Weylin growled deeply, intently, his eyes dark and pleading. "Not without Birkita."

Rodney touched his cheek, recoiling inwardly from the remembered sting of her claws upon his flesh. "No. Oh, no, no, no, no, no! Her? Anyone but her."

"Not. Without. Her." Weylin asserted defensively, fiercely.

John cocked his eyebrow. "If you ask me, looks like she runs the show around here. You're going to risk your life to kidnap her so, what? So you can take over?"

Fineas turned hotly, his face begging. "No. Not without the Anput."

Their two benefactors jumped into action before anyone could argue further or even question what an Anput was. They led the way up and up from the catacombs of the cells, up to where Rodney and Teyla had been taken. Sheppard followed, taking the same cautious notes Teyla had on their position and orientation within the stone keep, drawing a mental map of the area. Fineas, however, had an intimate knowledge of the place, walking steady now without any hint of the hobble and stiffness that had been there before, the faux limp gone completely. Teyla gave the Garou instant credit for having kept the charade alive long enough to have earned an easy trust among guards who seemed to believe him to be nothing more than a cripple. Fineas occasionally held up a hand to stop them as guards passed, but, otherwise said nothing as he led the way up through the halls.

Sheppard kept to the back of the group, listening intently to the sounds of the castle about them. He did not yet trust this Weylin or this Fineas at all. After all, just a few short hours ago, Weylin had been the bastard Talon, stalking him in the cell, threatening and attacking him directly in the pit. And, yet, there had been a desperation to the elder Garou's eyes when he mentioned the Anput, a cold need that Sheppard could not deny.

Suddenly, Fineas froze and swore under his breath. "Sin'ai." The Garou spat viciously. "In there." His eyes narrowed in Weylin's direction. "With the Anput."

Teyla and Rodney needed no further explanation, nor did Weylin as the wolf tightened his fists into tight balls. Sheppard furrowed his brow and gave a cautious glance about the corner. Guards. Several of them, all outside a door and all heavily armed. The rogue Wraith stood among them, silent and deadly as a coiled asp, waiting to strike.

"How important is this Anput thing?" Sheppard questioned under his breath.

"More important than anything," Weylin answered quickly.

The colonel gave another quick glance to the door. "Yeah, well, I don't think we're getting it anytime soon. We should get out of here and regroup."

"No, there's no time," Weylin argued back. "I will not leave with her."

"There's no choice in the matter," Sheppard grunted, his mind still wracking with some way to make this work. "We'll come back for it loaded for bear."

Fineas lifted his lip in a truly wolfish display of rage. "No. Not without my daughter."

Sheppard, Teyla, and Rodney each exchanged shocked looks. His daughter? Lady Birkita? The same creature who had so viciously and callously slashed apart Rodney's cheek in the bedchambers, who had ruled with such a seeming iron fist. The same Lady Birkita who had stood on and watched as the Garou fought to the death for her name at her command, who had held Sheppard's life in her hands..... and stayed it for another day? In a way, something clicked for Teyla right then. While Weylin held Sheppard's throat in his teeth, the decision had been Birkita's. She had stayed the wolves and the guards to prolong Sheppard's life for another night, for a chance of escape. Rodney recalled the stark tension that had been in Fineas when Turali Sin'ai came to her chambers, suggested so blatantly in front of him. There was no question about who Lady Birkita really was. Teyla looked to Sheppard and gave a cautious nod.

Sheppard sighed and gave his own tired and acquiescing nod, knowing full well they need the Garou for Ronon. "Teyla, Rodney, get them to the Gate and dial the Alpha site. I'll catch up with you."

"No," Fineas whispered. "You don't know where it is." John froze at the stark truth, but the Garou jerked his head towards his kin. "Weylin, down the hall to the Ordeal tapestry, through the servants passage. Go with him."

The Garou gave a quick nod, like a soldier receiving his orders. Fineas took Teyla by her hand and dragged him with him, Rodney trailing at their wake like a lost little boat. Weylin waited for a moment with Sheppard, listening to the guards at the door and studying their movements. Sheppard's ribs ached, and he curled a hand about them, holding tight. The Garou shot him a quick look, but the colonel waved a dismissive hand at him. It was nothing they could worry about now.

After a moment, when the Garou felt they had waited long enough, Weylin beaconed for Sheppard to follow as they slunk along the heavy tapestries. The Garou kept his massive hand out, pressing the thickly woven material into the wall, studying. Sheppard, meanwhile, trained his ears to the sound of footsteps behind them on some distant hall. The Garou stopped stock stiff at an ominously familiar seeming design of a group of wolves circled about a par of fighting wolves while a full moon hung in the sky. He shuddered inwardly to remember his short time in the pit against Weylin. The Garou frantically pressed and prodded at the tapestry, searching for something.

A sound catch Sheppard's noise of heavy booted footsteps coming their way. "Hurry up."

The Garou said nothing, his hands still shifting over the tapestry. Sheppard jumped to his side, examining the cloth for something, anything. The footsteps echoed thunderously in his ears along with his racing heart. Finally, his hands found purchase on the edge of the fabric and, when Sheppard pushed through, a door knob. He snatched Weylin by the shirt sleeve and hauled him through the slit in the tapestry, throwing the door open on the other side and into a dark hall. The tapestry fell back and over the door, concealing them as several footsteps passed by. The colonel crouched on the floor and peered through the tiny sliver of light at the base of the tapestry and into the hall, watching a small group of guards pass by. Sheppard let out a sigh of relief but was in motion in a heartbeat as Weylin scrambled to his feet.

The two continued on down the corridor, moving in stride with one another like they had traveled in sync with one another. Weylin fell into an easy stride just ahead of Sheppard, trusting to turn his back on the colonel as he led the way. There was a comfortable sort of pacing to the way Weylin moved, swift and silent, like a predatory on an easy hunt, or soldiers moving through an already swept area. Sheppard kept just behind him through the narrow, dark passage until they reached a plain, unadorned window. Weylin pressed his finger to his lips and eased the window open before climbing out onto a narrow ledge. Sheppard followed, surprised at his own sudden trust of the Garou.

Sheppard forced the thought from his mind when they slunk onto a balcony attached to a quiet room by ornate french doors. Weylin shifted his weight simply, slipping to one side of the doors as Sheppard pressed into wall on the other side. Weylin put his finger to his lips again, as though the colonel needed reminding, and, then, stole into the room. John followed, holding his breath as they moved. The antechamber stood silent and empty, but a solid door leading to a second room stood slightly ajar, with muffled sounds coming from inside.

As Sheppard drew closer, he heard the unmistakable voice of Turali Sin'ai in a wanton breath beyond and in the dark of the second room. "Birkita..."

Weylin's fist came up, balled and ready, tightened for a fight. His face went still and angry, ready for a fight. The same rage and defiance Sheppard had seen before the Wraith flickered in the Garou's eyes as he held his place. Every muscle in the Garou tensed as he grew out long claws but held back the urge to change fully and let loose his pallid, weak, and human shape in favor of the predator within as the sounds of hoarse, ragged breaths came from the room.

"Shhh...." the Lady sang in a low tone. "Shh...."

Fur peppered down Weylin's arms and his throat worked to avoid a growl; this time, Sheppard made the silencing gesture of putting a finger to his lips. Weylin stared angrily through eyes no longer intensely dark but golden and glinting like a wolf. However, the Garou obeyed the unspoken order, allowing Sheppard a moment to peer through the crack in the door to the dark room beyond. It was hard to see, but there were two bodies in there upon the bed. The one that face them had long locks of straight hair, glinting silver in the light, while the other form stood over her. Those pale eyes of Lady Birkita glittered, and Sheppard knew she had seen him, even if she said nothing. Instead, she pulled Sin'ai closer to her, clasping his face between her hands as though shielding Sheppard from his vision, conspiring with the intruders. John pressed a hand to the door, giving it a light, testing shove and easing it open, grimacing when the hinges groaned in protest.

"What was that?" Sin'ai demanded, his voice cracking through the air.

Birkita crooned gently, lying smoothly through her teeth, "I didn't hear anything."

"No. I heard something." There came a shifting of weight and the creaks of a body moving from off a bed as Sin'ai called again. "Someone's there."

"There is no one, my lord."

However, footsteps approached from the room, one set heavy and sure, the other light and almost dainty. Weylin stepped back from his side of the door, towards the balcony once more, waving for Sheppard to come, to retreat for a moment and regroup in the dark of the night outside. However, before Sheppard could, the doors to the bedchamber were thrown open, separating the colonel from the Garou. The door opened to reveal none other than a thoroughly disheveled and rather enraged looking Turali Sin'ai pulling a royal blue, brocade robe about himself hastily.

"You!"

**XXX**

**XXXXX**

**XXX**

**Author's Notes: **No, I haven't given up on **Feast of the Samhain**_. _I've just gotten caught up in a bunch of projects all at once, including **Caliber**_, _the story of Sheppard and Ronon forging an unlikely alliance with Todd in order to scour a culled, dead America for Rodney. I've also recently started working on, oh horrors, a bit of humor to lighten the mood in an homage to Julian May's Pliocene Exile in which one of the team accidentally becomes a shipspouse (if you've read _The Golden Torc_ you know Brede, so you know what I'm talking about).

And, by the by, **Endgame65**, I have heard of _Blood and Chocolate_, just a little. See, it just so happens to be one of my all time favorite books (up there with _American Gods_ and _Dreamworld_). Yet, I was too ashamed to admit it because of that terrible movie (*I like to pretend the movie never happened). I figured an overt rip from the book would clue in any one else who was really a fan of the book.

The book has one of my all time favorite lines, so much so that I made macabre Valentine's cards for it once.

_"I thought I'd give you my heart, but, since that might be inconvenient, I've brought you someone else's instead."_


	9. Twilight Tarantella

**FEAST OF THE SAMHAIN - TWILIGHT TARANTELLA**

The security team that had been following hot on their heels expertly cordoned off the area in the corridor where Ronon and Weylin found Sheppard, keeping a safe, measured distance from the fallen and stunned colonel. Ronon hardly paid them any heed as the soldiers worked dispassionately to maintain their perimeter. They worked with a trained disconnect from the situation, keeping an even and cool composure, no matter how they might have wanted to glance over their shoulders. The guards knew better and paid more respect to Sheppard, a man who had once commanded their entire military complement to Atlantis, the man they had each trusted with their lives on several occasions.

However, it was much more difficult to ignore the people who came peering about their corners, their eyes wide with surprise and shock. Few of the original Atlantis civilian personnel remained after all these years, leaving the city populated primarily by strangers to John Sheppard outside of the military members. They came from all corners of the city, wide eyed and curious. He grit his teeth in a bitter annoyance at the nonessential civilian expedition members who had come simply to gawk at the sad spectacle of the broken and pathetic creature that had once been Lt. Colonel John Sheppard.

The sight had to be a difficult temptation, a distant part of Ronon's brain rationalized. John Sheppard had been a myth in Atlantis even before his disappearance, his legend fueled by tales of single handedly defending the city from the Genii during the storm and facing off against the Wraith at impossible odds. The soldiers still occasionally swapped stories in the mess hall during their meals, joking and laughing at the quirky antics of the colonel, although, now, admittedly, the recollections had gone from humorous to more wistful. After hearing so much about the heroic, brave, strong John Sheppard, the currently circulating rumors of his return must have been too much, especially for those who hadn't met Sheppard.

Yet that did not stop it from enraging the Satedan, no matter how much he could argue the logic behind natural human curiosity. He clenched his teeth to keep from snarling anything, his muscles quivering with barely contained anger at their callous disregard for Sheppard's obvious suffering. It seemed somehow worse to see such strangers to the colonel just.... just standing there. It was absolutely wrong and utterly abhorrent.

Weylin seemed to understand implicitly, shifting to a half-skin, his face cracking as the bones reshaped and his jaws extended to jowls intended for the seething howl that rippled from deep within the Garou's lungs. Ebony hair instantly sprouted from his face as his knees snapped backwards with disgusting pops. Weylin whipped about the balls of his feet, his eyes golden and feral as he roared out at the onlookers and bore freshly pointed and gleaming ivory fangs, sending the humans scurrying back. The hulking Garou fumed in his partial form, somewhere in between wolf and human, breathing deeply and swiftly to calm and center himself before clenching his muscles and loosing his pelt. In a heartbeat, Weylin looked human once more but no less angered.

Ronon hardly noticed the Garou's outburst. The wolves were prone to sudden bouts of primal aggression, just as much as Ronon could be from time to time. They _were_ animals, after all, proud and fierce beneath their weak, soft human skin. He had grown accustomed to the occasional snaps from the Garou as grim reminders of their truly predatory nature lurking beneath the surface. The full-blooded Garou snarled irately under his breath, his honey colored eyes flickering back and forth between the few onlookers who continued to dare his barely checked fury as the wolf bristled and stepped between the prying eyes and the colonel almost protectively.

Weylin had every right to demand obeisance, having earned the right in the pit and in the private challenges of his pack, but these were no Garou. Weylin had earned his most venerable position as Teeth of his pack, but he had garnered no military position or rank within the expedition. He held no sway over them. If anything, the entire Garou species owed the Atlantis expedition for their judicious discretion in keeping some of their more volatile secrets from the SGC, a fact Woosley largely enjoyed lording over Canagan-Filtiarn and exploiting to the expedition's benefit. Yet it was the way of his kind to both assert and defend their dominance, their loyalty and protectiveness over their fallen friends and kin.

_"Ronon?" _Keller's soft voice came from his radio, jerking the Satedan from his bitter reverie.

"Yeah?" he barked back.

The doctor spoke gently in a soothing crone. _"Do you have him?"_

Ronon eyed the prone form slumped on the ground and sighed, carefully slipping his arms beneath Sheppard, lifting him up, and turning to the infirmary with Weylin following closely in his wake. "Yeah. On our way."

xxxx

Some two hours after the incident, once ballast controls were stabilized once more and the city saved thanks to the great Rodney McKay - with a little help from a furry source- the physicist found himself standing before Richard Woolsey's desk as though before the firing squad. Yet it was not Woolsey that had McKay so unnerved. The pair stood awkwardly with Lorne, each staring into the screen of the open video communications channel, faced with Gen. Landry on the other end.

The general solemnly asked, "And you are _certain _it was Sheppard that caused the flooding?"

McKay flustered nervously at the question, as though the accusation were directed at him and not the colonel; he fiddled with his hands and cast his gaze downward as he muttered, "Yes. There's no question where the prompts came from."

Landry sighed a heavy, almost lamenting breath. "Thank you, Dr. McKay, for your honesty." The general turned his attention to something on his desk, a printed file, as he ran his fingers over the type. "Mr. Woosley, I've gone over Dr. Keller's reports, as has both the IOA and Department of Defense." He set the paper back down on the table, as though a terrible, vile thing. "I think you can guess their recommendation."

"Sir?" Lorne breathed, his brow gathering in concern.

"They've ruled it's in Sheppard's best interest to send him back to Earth."

McKay blanched, his mouth hanging open in surprise. "You.... you can't do this. You can't." He looked to his own report on the general's desk damning Sheppard. "It was an accident. He didn't mean it." McKay stumbled over what to say next, what argument he could possibly fling in desperate hope. "He wouldn't.... he wouldn't hurt us. Never"

Landry nodded in commiseration. "I know, but my hands are tied. Both the IOA and the DoD felt that Sheppard may have been compromised over his captivity, even before this incident. They have ruled him a direct threat to Atlantis if he remains there."

"But you know.... you _know _he wouldn't intentionally hurt us," McKay argued furiously now, quivering with a barely restrained rage.

"In his right mind, no, Col. Sheppard would not." Landry admitted with a heaved sigh before growing stern and set once more. "But he's already proven he is not of the his right mind right now. I cannot reasonably justify putting two hundred and thirty seven lives in jeopardy counting civilian expedition members and non-Earth bound personnel by allowing Sheppard to stay on Atlantis. Mr. Woosley, Col. Lorne, you have your orders. Within the next twelve hours."

xxxx

Richard Woolsey did not like anything about this, not what had happened and not what he knew he had to do. He approached the infirmary slowly, dragging his feet and procrastinating the inevitable. Woolsey had seen Sheppard a few times since Ronon and Weylin brought him back, wincing at the wounds and the sheer panic in the colonel's wild eyes; it wasn't something he relished seeing ever again.

When Woolsey arrived to the observation deck of isolation, he felt unsurprised to see the white wolf lingering before the windows, staring down, into the infirmary and standing in a frozen attention. The man smiled warmly at the sight of the solitary wolf. A single, massive and snowy ear swiveled to meet Woolsey's steps, and, upon recognizing the sounds of the motion, the delicately sculpted, ivory muzzle turned in his direction. Two icy, off-colored eyes stared almost mournfully at the approaching man. Birkita. There could be no other. She sat upon muscular haunches, keeping her own silent vigil over Sheppard in her pelt.

Woolsey approached calmly and quietly, standing at her side and looking through the windows as a hand slipped down to stroke the downy fur at the nape of Birkita's neck. It felt the right thing to do, no matter how unusual it might be. Beneath the fur and the fangs was a person, a Garou, and, yet, she leaned into the reassuring sensation, whining plaintively.

"I know," he breathed when he caught sight of those frozen eyes.

Richard Woolsey knew he always came across as something of an a by-the-book rules nazi, wound perhaps a little too tight. He found comfort and a sense of security in rigid and unyielding rules of conduct where there could be no uncomfortable gray area and no uncertain questions. He appreciated the direct and forward nature to the laws that kept Atlantis running as smoothly as could be expected from an alien city ship, savoring how easily the many cogs of the expedition meshed together and worked in unison to support the larger picture. Yet, for once, when he watched Keller finish rewrapping the unconscious Sheppard's many wounds under the keen gaze of both Ronon and Weylin standing with their arms folded in the door frame, Richard loathed the rules, feeling bound and strangled by them, suffocated almost.

He glanced down at the wolf and frowned tightly. "Lose the fur and put some clothes on."

She yawned and gave a half-whine of protest. Woolsey did not often understand Birkita or Weylin, nor their intentions and especially not in their wolf skins, yet he understood this. Birkita did not often shed her pelt, not voluntarily at least. It was as though she found life as a wolf simpler, uncomplicated by the knotted web of human, social laws. At times, Woolsey envied the Garou for this ability to shed themselves both of their innately weak, human form as well as the varied complications of everyday life in favor of endless miles of inviting forests and the ever forgiving, dark embrace of the night. Now, unfortunately, was not the time for such childish fancy.

"We need to talk."

xxxx

_Six years earlier :_

"You!" Turali Sin'ai bellowed upon spying both Sheppard and the Garou, Welin, in these, Lady Birkita's well appointed and lavish quarters, pointing fiercely at the intruders who dared disrupt his privacy.

He turned, bolting towards the door, mouth hanging open and ready to scream for his personal body guards, but the sound never escaped his lips. Instead, two pale arms brought down an ornate vase upon the nobleman's head. The vase shattered instantly upon impact with a loud crash and a crushing blow. Sin'ai fell to the floor in a crumpled heap amid a sea of white porcelain shards painted with a delicate, blue filigree. He landed with a thud that sent Sheppard cringing visibly as a white form streaked past him. Turali Sin'ai may not have called out, but there was no way the guards hadn't heard the vase breaking nor the fall of the nobleman. The colonel threw himself at the door, reaching about and finding only a scarf to tie the curled, golden handles with. It would not hold for long, but it was better than nothing.

When Sheppard turned, he blinked in surprise. A pale form huddled against Weylin, snuggling desperately close to him. Birkita, dressed in a pale, silvery nightgown that matched her colorless hair and marble white skin, giving her an eerie, ghost like impression. She had thrown her slender arms about him, embracing him closely. And Weylin? Weylin nuzzled against her neck warmly, affectionately, flaring his nostrils as he drank in his scent. He kissed her forehead tenderly and almost chastely before stroking her ivory hair with one hand and rubbing his head against hers like a wolf. It seemed too familiar to see the Garou hold one another so, too intimate and personal of a moment to be intruding upon.

"Birkita...." Weylin whispered with a husky voice, his fingertips trailing the nape of her thin neck.

She leaned up slightly on her tip toes without opening her eyes, brushing the tip of her nose against the hulking Garou's neck, breathing, "Weylin...." She shook her head against his chest. "Why did you come here?"

"For you."

Sheppard let out the breath he had not realized he had been holding. This was a different Birkita than the Lady he had seen preside over the fight. The exalted Lady Birkita had been dour and curt, professional and distantly cold towards the Garou of the pit, as though disconnected from the brutal, bloodthirsty world that revolved unerringly about her. This Birkita seemed fragile and loving, human and utterly fraught with concern for the muscular Garou she held dear. It caught Sheppard off guard to see such candidness from either of these wolves.

"My lord?" the guards called softly in a gravely voice from the other side of the door, sending shivers down Sheppard's spine. "My lord?" The Garou froze stiffly, their gaze locked on the door as the guard gently rapped upon the other side. "Are you well?"

Birkita squeezed Weylin tight against her. "Go. Get out of here."

"Not without you."

"My lord?!?" the guard pressed with a sense of urgency to his cry.

Sheppard jumped when the handles to the doors turned and someone tugged against his haphazardly knotted silken scarf; he swallowed once more as his throat dried suddenly."Uh.... guys.... I hate to break up this touching moment...."

"MY LORD? LADY BIRKITA?"

Weylin said not a word, taking Birkita by the wrist and ferrying her back to the balcony. Sheppard followed closely at their heels, constantly glancing over his shoulder at the door trembling behind them under the increasingly frantic jerks. His heart beat heard with each pounding knock upon the wood. Weylin pressed with a wide hand against Birkita tenderly, the fingers splayed wide as long, dangerous talons sprouted along with black tufts of fur upon the banks of his hands. He guided her back and behind him, onto the cool balcony, the pads of her bare feet whispering across the marble smooth stone. Sheppard stepped in time with the retreating Garou, all eyes locked upon the door.

"LET ME IN, MY LORD!" the guard bellowed once more before dropping his voice to announce, "Something's wrong."

The three bumped into the stone rail with a start. Sheppard watched the door with unease, feeling utterly trapped between the two Garou at his flank and the guards threatening to storm into the chambers. Each glanced over the railing to the two story drop below, spying ornate shrubs in the gardens just underneath the the balcony. Weylin and Birkita shot one another quick glances and nods, scrambling to easily perch upon the stone rail. Sheppard had not realized when they scaled the narrow ledge just how high up the Lady's chambers were in this stone keep until now, faced with a drop that had to span three stories or more.

Sheppard swallowed at the prospect of the fall, pointed an accusing finger at the pair of Garou, and snapped in hushed haste, "When this is over, you had better have a _really _good story."

"We do," Weylin solemnly promised, his predatory, honey eyes earnest and his features set.

Sheppard watched in awe as the two Garou simply sprang off the stone rail, tumbling gracefully through the air towards the ground. They pitched themselves with wild abandon and an uncanny grace, landing somewhat neatly in the manicured shrubbery. The dark haired stranger reached out for the pale girl's hand, helping her climb out. She glanced up to him with her frigid, off colored eyes, pleading, waving a hurried hand in gesture for him to join and whispering what was likely something along the same lines. Sheppard climbed out onto the balcony's ledge, dredging up the driving, childhood sentiment of 'if-they-can-do-it-I-can-do-it,' blissfully ignoring the fact that the very same notion once landed him in the emergency room with a dislocated shoulder and a highly distraught mother on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

He chanced one, last look to the door just in time to see it splinter under a crushing blow from the rogue Wraith. The colonel threw himself down, crouching behind the stone rail as soon as he spied the silvery hair and ghastly visage storming into the room. His sweaty fingers slipped on the smooth rail, yet his grip held as Sheppard pressed tightly against the balcony.

"Sin'ai?" the beast hissed venomously, crossing the room swiftly, judging by the heavy stomping of booted feet. The Wraith sniffed audibly, barking, "Someone has let the dogs loose and taken the Lady. Find them. Kill them."

Sheppard glanced to the two, awaiting Garou below. The Lady Birkita waved to him once more, her features fraught with evident worry. Sheppard shook his head silently, pressing a finger to his lips. The Garou stilled, freezing stock stiff, their eyes wide in the dark of the night.

"Now," the Wraith snapped viciously, eliciting a flurry of activity in the chambers of guards scurrying to motion.

Sheppard tensed, his muscles clenching and screaming against the strain of holding himself so still and so silently there, dangling over the dizzying drop. The guards rushed out, but the heavy stomps of the Wraith did not move with them. The Wraith lingered for some reason. Sheppard shivered against the cold stone, his nerves flaring with fresh adrenaline as the thumping steps drew close. The Wraith stood just beyond the thin veil of latticed and columned stone comprising the rail. Sheppard flinched when clammy, grey hands slapped down and clamped upon the edge just beside him.

The Wraith inhaled deeply, tasting the night, and, suddenly, jerked his head to Sheppard's direction. "You."

The colonel yelped in surprise, the railing slipping in his grasp. His body lurched backward, falling for a dreadful moment through the air, his arms flailing out instinctively. Sheppard did not land nearly as gracefully as the Garou in the shrubbery below. Instead, he flopped into the thick, tangled mat of branches, discovering them to be nowhere near as padded and plush as the Garou's easy landings made it seem. He plunged through the snapping, slashing twigs, hitting the ground hard on his wrist with an audible and unmistakable crack as searing, white hot flames licked up his arm. Sheppard grit his teeth, biting back the howl of agony that threatened to escape his lips as something in his wrist snapped. He rolled out from under the bushes, barely aware of the roars of the Wraith overhead.

Weylin snatched Sheppard by the collar of his shirt, hauling the colonel to his feet. "C'mon."

Sheppard did not argue, especially not as the Wraith nimbly leapt over the ledge and into the bushes behind them. He bolted with the Garou, surprised for a moment at their speed and agility as even Birkita in her bare feet scrambled across the graveled gardens. They darted together as a group, moving like a pack, with the rogue coming up hard on their heels. His lungs ached and burnt with the effort of the continued sprint at breakneck speed to keep ahead of the Wraith and in stride with the Garou, yet the two strangers hardly seemed to break a sweat as they swiftly streaked through the moonlight ahead of him. Worse, his wrist ground and screamed with every step, no matter how carefully he cradled it to his chest.

Sheppard found the gardens vaguely familiar, like something torn from a hazy, fairy-tale dream turned nightmare. The gravel crunching beneath their feet and cutting at Birkita's appeared uniform in shape and consistency. The grounds were laid out in ornate, twisting knots of evergreen shrubs clipped to precision edges, almost insidiously perfect. The well groomed bushes rise up over his head into a complicated, confusing maze, yet one the two Garou appear to understand and know well.

The colonel glanced frantically over his shoulder just in time to spy the Wraith out of the corner of his eye as it darted through a narrow gap in the shrubs and out of sight. He furrowed his brow, focusing intently on the sounds about him, on the steady, low and even breathes of the Garou bolting ahead of him, of the grit of the gravel beneath his combat boots, and the hiss of Birkita's silk robes across her skin. The night had a life and a wild song all to its self, a vibrant symphony of crickets and the lonely calls of the few nocturnal birds to this planet. Sheppard listened and learnt, catching the sounds of another set of footsteps moving beside them on the other side of a wall of deep, hunter green.

His hand shot out of its own accord, latching onto Birkita's wrist and hauling back as his heels dug in to the gravel. She gasped sharply as Sheppard jerked back on her just in the nick of time. Perhaps a millisecond after Sheppard moved, the Wraith plunged through the greens, his curved and elegant sword drawn and hacking immediately for the burly Garou, Weylin. Birkita's pale, watery eyes went wide in horror, but Sheppard pulled her away as the Wraith aimed for Weylin.

The Garou responded in like, shifting with a speed and ferocity that had Sheppard's mind reeling. Weylin hurled himself at the Wraith in a flash, his bones already popping and snapping mid lunge to take on a new shape as fresh, ebony fur peppered his skin. The Wraith snarled, but the Garou shoved hard into him, throwing him back through the hole. The pair went rolling through the fresh rip in the garden greens and down to the unforgiving gravel of the gardens.

"WEYLIN!" Birkita shrieked, twisting against Sheppard's hold.

A mouth barely made for human speech snarled darkly over Weylin's shoulder as fabric rent over burgeoning muscles with an eerie release, "Get her out of here!"

"Don't have to tell me twice," Sheppard quipped as the Garou shifted fully to his wolf pelt and lashed out against the Wraith with a swing of a massive, clawed paw. The colonel tugged hard on the Lady's slender wrist, calling softly, "M'lady, if you would."

She did not argue, instead biting down on her lower lip as though weighing Weylin's orders before acquiescing grudgingly. The eerie, colorless creature flowed in step behind Sheppard, allowing herself to be ferried through the gardens in the wake of the colonel. Both jumped in surprise every time the Wraith bellowed behind them, any time there came a crash through the shrubs of the battle ensuing, and any time Weylin's throaty growls crossed the gardens. Sheppard shrugged it off; he had seen for his own eyes that the wolf could handle himself well enough in a fight. There wasn't time for Birkita's concern, not as guards shouted all about them as they filtered into the gardens.

"Wait!" Birkita breathed sharply and curtly, pulling taut on Sheppard's hold now.

The Garou pulled Sheppard back and into the shadows, dragging him behind a marble sculpture of a nude beauty recessed in a carved alcove. He allowed her to press against him in the tight space, feeling the almost fevered heat of her tiny body, the same flush he had felt when Ronon leaned over him so menacingly while sparring. A slender finger graced his lips, silencing any arguments or complaints as the albino cocked her head to one side, as though listening to something far off. Within a matter of seconds, they were rewarded as a group of guards barreled right past their hiding place. Sheppard let out a sigh of relief that he hadn't realized he had been holding, feeling the warm puff of Birkita allowing her own breath in a startlingly and refreshingly _human _action.

Sheppard looked down and found those almost painfully crystalline eyes staring up at him; he whispered cautiously in her pointed ear. "We should keep moving before they figure out we gave them the slip."

She listened for a moment with her acute sense of hearing and gave a quick nod, breathing out, "Yeah."

Together, they slipped from behind the polished statuary and back onto the graveled path. Sheppard winced at the sounds of the gravel beneath her unprotected feet, but the albino did not complain once as they silently bolted back towards the manse, their motions unheard over the chaos rippling through the garden as Weylin continued to rather loudly fight the Wraith, snapping and growling like a rabid wolf. Sheppard slunk along the terrace wall, his back to the cold stone and the oddly albino Garou in tow. She moved gracefully and smoothly, absolutely befitting the truly predatory nature lurking beneath her delicate and nearly fragile visage. She froze for but a momentary and glancing pause at a neatly rounded topiary, lifting her pertly pointed nose to the air and inhaling deeply, drawing in the scent of the night and the subtle notes of both human and Garou musk on the air before creeping along in Sheppard's footsteps

The colonel found a simple, unadorned wooden door set in a carved niche in the wall and tucked behind heavy shrubbery, tugging the girl at his side into the concealing shadows once more as more guards flooded the gardens and vast terraces surrounded by the manse. He pressed an ear to it and found not a sound. Upon glancing to Birkita, the girl nodded enthusiastically, and Sheppard eased the ancient portal open, stepping into a warm, welcoming corridor lit not by the gilded lanterns upstairs but by torches and black, iron lamps. This passage was also mercifully not nearly as well lit as the lavish corridors upstairs. He drew Birkita in behind him and eased the door shut just as a group of guards thundered past.

Only then did he look with any uncertainty to the Garou, hissing, "Where are we?"

"Servant's passage. This should lead to the kitchens and then through to the storehouse." Birkita spoke softly, and, despite the hushed tone, her words still echoed upon the rock, quaking slightly. "There are windows there facing _out_."

He nodded and allowed her to take him gingerly by his good wrist, complaining only by asking gruffly, "You _do _have a good explanation for all this, right?"

"Yup," she replied breathlessly.

Sheppard scowled in the dark as they stepped lightly through the dimly lit passage, opting for awkward small talk. "So, you have some other name you're not sharing like that Weylin guy?"

"Lady Birkita Canagan of the Avoyelles."

Sheppard blinked. "Mouthful."

Though he could not see it, the colonel could have sworn he could hear the girl roll her eyes as she sighed, "It's just Birkita." They walked on through the long hall for a tense moment in silence before she dared break it once more. "You?"

"Lt. Col. John Sheppard."

Birkita turned to him, smiling almost sweetly. "Charmed."

Sheppard cocked an eyebrow at the word and blurted out, "I'm sure."

At the end of the hall, they came to a set of two, roughly hewn wooden doors. Birkita reached out, but Sheppard caught her by the hand, pulling her back and behind him instinctively and almost as protectively as Weylin had. It came almost impulsively and naturally to put himself between danger and someone as seemingly young, innocent, and utterly defenseless as Birkita, despite the fact that his rational mind new she was among the Garou, those impossibly strong and swift wolves. Carefully, slowly, Sheppard pushed the thick doors open, cautiously stepping through first.

The kitchens were silent and mercifully empty, dark save for the fading specks of red, dying embers on the hearth. Together, they edged between thick tables and butcher blocks, past an open cook pit and into the next room, a wide and towering storehouse lined with barrels and bags of various foods and goods. True to Birkita's word, wide windows lined the outward facing wall above a row of wine casks, allowing in radiant slivers of moonlight that cast a silvery glow upon the albino. Sheppard climbed up first, politely giving the Lady a hand before crouching at the glass windows.

He swore.

Thick forests lie just beyond the manse, perhaps a quarter of a mile away over fields of waving grasses, yet that was not the problem. The grounds beyond the keep were heavily guarded, as armed soldiers darted to and fro, clearly seeking out the escapees. They shouted orders and barked at one another brusquely. While Sheppard might not have been able to hear everything they yelled, the colonel did recognize one overwhelming order bandied about.

"FIND THE LADY!"

xxxx

Upon leaping after the Wraith and shifting fully to his wolf skin, Weylin's senses flooded with minute details that only a predator could truly appreciate. The cool damp of the night clung to his thick, downy hide, sending ripples through the heavy, ebony pelt. Night blooming lilies perfumed the air with gentle scents that lingered in wide nostrils meant for hunting prey, despite the overwhelming musk of the Wraith and the utterly vile stench of its blood on the night. An intoxicating tingle sang through the Garou's muscles and down his spine to the tip of his bushy tail, charged by a bright, swollen moon close to full. Weylin savaged the Wraith's arm despite the awful, stomach turning taste of the black ichor, electrified by the pure, unbridled thrill of the night and the abandon of his wolf skin.

Weylin Canagan-Filtiarn would likely be the very last Teeth of the Avoyelles ever. It was a title he had earned, by no small surprise, by his teeth, and defended as such. He defended his position without mercy and without question against any challengers, always stepping out to meet them in stride and sending them all away with their tail set firmly between their legs and licking their wounds for days. If anyone deserved the title, it was Weylin. Strong, swift, stern, but fair and exacting, as justice had always meant to be executed, no matter what species meted it out.

The Wraith howled and cuffed the hulking, black wolf on the side of the head with a powerful, driving blow, dazing the Garou and batting him away. Weylin rolled hard to the side, landing in a clump of neatly trimmed evergreens. He instantly shot to his massively pawed feet once more, stumbling to the side, poking out his velveteen tongue and shaking off the disorientation just in time to spy the Wraith lunging for him once more. The Wraith swung his broad and curved sword, thinking he had a clear advantage over the wolf. Yet this Garou had faced far stronger opponents in both his challenges and in the pit, having finely crafted the art of deception. As the Wraith drew down, the Garou nimbly dodged out of what would have been a crippling to decapitating blow.

The Wraith hissed through his pointed, hideous teeth. "You forget your place, dog."

The Garou snarled as it circled cautiously, baring his pearly fangs and spitting flecks of white slobber as he growled. He had stood by long enough, hoping and waiting for an opportunity to break free of Sin'ai's clutches and get the Anput safely home where she belonged. He had sat by and watched his fellow wolf die, killed his kinfolk, all to preserve the illusion that Sin'ai and the Wraith had him and his Lady right where they wanted. Weylin could no longer sit so idly back.

"I will remind you."

The Wraith jumped first, slashing through the air, but Weylin narrowly dodged each swing, scrambling aside. The Wraith moved forward, advancing and driving the Garou back, deeper into the gardens. Weylin reeled left, carried by agile feet meant for ferreting out rabbits and racing down larger prey like deer or elk. The Wraith moved fast, but Garou were faster. He drew close to the Wraith and struck, snapping out at the beast's leg. As soon as his teeth connected down to the bone with a meaty crunch, the Garou reared back, hauling the Wraith down to the ground with a loud and unearthly satisfying thud.

"FILTHY MUT!" The Wraith bellowed.

Weylin jerked on the Wraith's leg, but it was not enough to completely dodge the curved, scimitar like sword that came cutting through the air. He yelped as the blade slashed down through his fur, splitting his hide open and splattering his blood upon the ground. The Garou jumped back in surprise and pain, limping off his front left foreleg, his golden eyes narrowed and still glaring at the Wraith. The Wraith chortled as he stood once more, almost gleefully as the Garou gingerly sidestepped away.

Weylin dared venture a glance to the wound on his shoulder. It was too deep, sending white hot lances of pain riveting through his leg with every subtle motion, every tiny step. He returned his full attention to the Wraith, lowering down upon his haunches, raising his hackles and pinning his ears to the back of his head.

The Wraith laughed at the defiance. "You cannot best a Wraith."

Weylin barked a hooting, almost cackling sound, wild and delirious from the invigorating night and the hot, cloying scent of blood. The Garou crouched low, pressing his stomach to the hard and cutting grit of the gravel. He shot forward before the Wraith ever had a chance to really know what was happening around him, narrowly skimming beside the alien predator with only the tiniest of glancing scrapes from the blade. He sprang off the ground, hurling his protesting body into the air and scrambling up to the tops of the evergreens. He charged down the long lengths of trimmed shrubs whose branches had become a tight, gnarled mass under centuries of trained growth and precision gardening. The Garou moved swiftly as the Wraith howled in rage behind him, racing lightly off the snapping branches before they could collapse beneath his weight, before springing from the tops of the shrubs and onto the tiled roof of the manse. The Wraith cursed behind the Garou in the guttural tongue of his kind as guards fired their guns wildly, but the wolf had already disappeared over the peak of the roof to the other side, sliding over the tiles.

Weylin had never intended to best the Wraith; he had only intended to _distract _the beast.

xxxx

"What do we do?" Birkita pressed softly.

Sheppard licked his lips studying the patterns of guards outside. They tended to move only in regular patterns, sweeping the perimeter of the manse and moving down the long, cobbled road that lead to the thick woods. The guards seemed to avoid the dense grasses of the field that waved so invitingly. They could use the lush grains as cover, yet the plants looked dry and brittle. A single step through the field would crush down the golden grasses, leaving a trail precisely where they fled, no matter what sort of silly shadow games the pair tried to play.

"Which way to the Stargate?" the colonel inquired quickly and curtly.

The Lady pointed out with a finger so pale that practically glowed under the moonlight. "Through the forests and across the stream. Perhaps two... no three miles."

"We're going to have to be fast," Sheppard finally conceded, taking mental note of the use of American standard measurements for the distance as opposed to the assorted hodge-podge of terms for length used through the Pegasus galaxy that varied in logic and length.

Birkita nodded, her pupils quivering and dilating strangely and unsettlingly to an unnatural shape between human and canine, as though fighting the urge to change, to loose herself of her slow and weak human form. "I can do fast."

Sheppard pursed his lips tightly as another squad passed by the windows below them. "We'll need a distraction."

He barely had a chance to finish formulating a thought on the matter when a black mass tumbled from the roof above, landing upon the guards. It took a moment for Sheppard's eyes to catch up with the motion of the inky black fur. Weylin. The men cried out in surprise and fright as the hulking Garou knocked them to the ground. He snapped and snarled, lashing out at the guards with his pointed teeth, mauling them savagely, maddened by the taste of the blood on his lips. Weylin paused only when the fray had ended and the guards lay dead at his feet, lifting his snout to the moon and letting out a keening howl. He stamped his paws, waiting until the guards came for him now before bolting for the tree line, wagging his bushy tail tauntingly after the guards.

"Will that work?" Birkita teased, her words thick with excitement.

Sheppard shrugged. "Works for me."

The colonel reached out, unlatching the window and eased it open. He peered over the edge, ignoring the bodies below and seeking out a soft landing place. Fortunately for them, Turali Sin'ai opulent tastes extended to the exterior of the grounds, even to this that seemed the back of the manse, leaving them with dense, night flowering shrubs laden with delicate, pink buds. Sheppard jumped first, stifling a yelp when he discovered the branches were studded with sharp, pointed thorns not unlike roses. He swore but kept low, gesturing with a wave for Birkita to come down as well before noticing the thorn lodged in his forearm and ripping it out with his teeth. The Garou leapt neatly, landing easily and softly just a foot or two before the thorny bushes and settling back beside Sheppard in the shadow of the thick growth.

He clutched his injured wrist close to his chest and touched his finger to his lips before taking off for the dense grasses, not that the Garou needed any warning. She moved impossibly silent beside him for a human. He glanced through the rustling grasses occasionally, thinking he spied snowy white fur moving with him, but it was always just her, just a girl. They only stopped after diving for the trees and the embracing shadows once more.

The albino jerked her head in the direction of the Stargate, pricking her ears to sounds only she could hear before announcing, "They're still ahead of us."

"We should lie low for a bit," the colonel suggested, garnering a solemn nod from the Lady.

Sheppard sat for a moment, his back pressed into the damp trunk of a moss covered tree. The back of his mind echoed a warning from Rodney on missions back. Something about never knowing if he was touching the Pegasus equivalent of poison ivy or sumac. Sheppard jumped away from the tree and, upon realizing his actions, shook his head, smirking at his own foolishness. Of all the things for him to be worrying about at that moment, in a dark forest filled with patrolling guards and loose werewolves, and there Sheppard was, fretting over getting an itchy skin rash.

The Lady hardly seemed to notice. She had swiveled her head slightly, cocking her ear to a different sound, twisting as she trained upon it. The albino furrowed her brow, as though it were difficult to track.

"What is it?" Sheppard breathed hesitantly.

The pale girl held up a silencing hand, still listening, still focusing, before reeling about and shrieking, "LOOK OUT!"

**XXX**

**XXXXX**

**XXX**

**Author's Notes : **Hope you enjoyed it and stay safe/warm out there for everyone driving, working, or just plain playing in the snow. I know I did while working on both **Feast of the Samhain **and **Caliber**!


	10. Quicksilver Quickstep

**FEAST OF THE SAMHAIN - QUICKSILVER QUICKSTEP**

Richard Woolsey waited in the conference room, staring down with a weighted heart a rather imposing stack of documents and paperwork, all printed out in fresh, still warm copies from the last databurst from the SGC. All of it demanded in military and medical protocol for John Sheppard to be returned to Earth immediately, consigning him to the hands of uncaring, unfeeling strangers. All of it left a sour bile taste in the back of Woolsey's throat, and all of it Woolsey wanted to do nothing more with than to burn and pour the ashes into the churning spring tidal currents off the west pier to be ignored and hopefully long forgotten while he buried his own head under the sand and hoped against hope that Sheppard wouldn't accidentally kill them all... _again_.

Yet he could not so simply and discretely sweep this matter under the carpet and wash his hands of it. The SGC would eventually come calling for their broken shell of a man, perhaps with weapons and dreaded subpoenas for court marshals all around for those few stupid enough to dare defy Air Force orders in favor of the memory of a man who no longer seemed to exist within the terrified, cowering person that was this strange, new John Sheppard.

After Landry's transmission, McKay had rather quietly, dully, and - in a decidedly uncharacteristic moment - politely declined to attend the meeting when Woolsey had requested his presence. He hung his head, his shoulders hunched over in a rare silence for the scientist. Woolsey excused Rodney and watched the physicist drag out of his office to withdraw to the quiet of the labs in the fruitless search for some sort of solace. Woolsey understood, but that did not make McKay's grave expression and stark quiet any easier to bear.

A sound caught Woolsey's attention as the doors to the conference room turned with a slight, metal on metal hiss. He turned slowly, feeling shrugged and cowed somehow, as though facing the firing squad as they filed in and took their respective seats. Lorne slunk into the room, taking a seat to one side to represent the military forces. Birkita and Weylin, the Garou contingent, sat side by side to the right, their faces stiff and set. To their immediate left, Ronon skulked, plopping down in the chair with a sober expression. While those three remained darkly inscrutable, the two women who entered were clearly livid. Keller sat across from them, scowling intensely, along with obviously traveled far faster through Atlantis than Woolsey imagined.

He waited for perhaps too long of a moment to steel himself before admitting with a deep and weary sigh, "I suppose you all know why I've called you here." He settled down at the head of the conference table and shuffled absently through the transfer orders once more before forcing his hands to stop the nervous gesture. "The SGC has ordered us to return Colonel Sheppard to Earth for his continued care."

Woolsey had been expecting the outburst. He just never thought it would be nearly as violent as it was. The Garou snapped as the wolves they were, for a man they had never really known all that well. Keller jibbered on in a bandy of medical jargon that sounded vaguely like physician's profanities. Even Ronon rumbled from his place. Woolsey allowed this. He had known tempers would run high and reactions would be dramatic after the disconcerting quiet from McKay. Woolsey gave them a few minutes to vent themselves before holding up a silencing hand.

"This was not my decision," Woolsey breathed, smoothing his hands over the papers again. "But there's no other choice. We're sending him back."

Keller's scowl deepened, giving her a tight look before she smirked victoriously and dealt her personal trump card, "I haven't released him medically." She folded her arms across her chest, puffing up visibly. "He isn't stable enough for me to sign off for gate travel."

"They're aware and deemed that it is worth the associated risk." Woolsey pinched the bridge of his nose. "We don't have the facilities nor the supplies for the sort of long term care Sheppard is going to need."

The vain satisfaction swiftly retreated from Keller's face as the anger leeched back in its place. "So, what, you're just going to throw him to the wolves?" She flinched and glanced to Ronon and the two Garou seated at the table, quickly blurting a half-apology. "No offense."

"None taken," Ronon rumbled, his voice rough but even, his dark eyes never leaving Woolsey.

The director went on, "Dr. Keller, I've read your reports. You yourself have suggested that several of the scars could be indicative of _bites_." He rubbed his forehead. "Have you found anything conclusive to confirm or deny whether he was bitten by a Garou?"

Regreat flickered across Keller's features before she answered, as though she'd been caught. "His temp's too high to get an accurate baseline, and I haven't found any trace of the protein marker. But, Ronon's bloodwork also stopped showing the protein after a few years, too."

"It's a risk, a good one," Lorne stated bluntly and almost angrily. "Who knows if he turned and, if he did, what he could do on full moon to Atlantis."

Ronon's grip tightened on the chair arms involuntarily, hearing the wood creak and pop in protest. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means we don't know what will happen," Keller breathed, answering for Lorne. "Carson's study of the ATA gene never included studies into severe psychological trauma nor the Garou's mixing. It's entirely possible that _nothing_ will happen, that the colonel won't be able to use his ATA gene at all if he.... changes."

"Or he could be worse," Lorne argued in a low, reluctant tone, admitting gravely, "We almost _lost _Atlantis."

There came another uproar from those around the table, but Woolsey quickly ended it by jumping to his feet and calling out, "Enough." Woolsey swallowed hard, looking down to still himself before speaking slowly and sadly, all eyes upon him. "I understand I have not been.... easy to work with. I know I have intentionally distanced myself from expedition members to maintain a professional level of interaction." He moved his hands across the smooth surface of the table, as though seeking out some speck of dust or dirt to eradicate in a nervous gesture. "But I am not a fool. I have learnt incredible volumes about the people under my command simply by watching and studying- John Sheppard included."

"And?" Ronon grunted bitterly from the far side of the table.

Woolsey sighed. "Sheppard loved Atlantis, _truly_ loved the city."

"Some great powers of observation," Keller quipped sarcastically, rolling her eyes at Woolsey's so obvious of statements. "Anyone with eyes could see that."

The man tried not to antagonize by arguing or coming back with a curt yet flat retort as could be expected from him, instead taking his glasses from his nose and rubbing his brow. "Sheppard..." He paused, correcting himself. "John, would never do anything to hurt the city or its people. In all the time I knew him, he was never that kind of person, always putting our lives and the city's safety before his own life."

"What are you driving at?" Weylin sniffed, the Garou tensing in his chair.

Woolsey shook his head. "Sheppard would never do that, but the man you brought back would and did try to." He saw the mouths of Ronon, Keller, and Teyla all drop to argue, but held up a finger. "Much as I am inclined to argue further with the SGC in favor of Sheppard remaining in Atlantis, I must face the simple truth that he is clearly not of sound mind and regretfully _agree _with the SGC that, if Sheppard remains, he will be a danger to everyone on Atlantis." Woolsey drew a deep breath, feeling the unimaginable weight of his words. "I know now- having seen McKay's data - that the man who came back isn't the same person we knew to be John Sheppard. Not at the moment. He might still be in there, though. The human mind does amazing and impossibly inexplicable things in the spirit of self preservation against incredible adversity. It is my sincerest hope that the man we once knew can be coaxed out once more and maybe even, in time, return to the program." He watched the heads dip around him before going on. "But, for right now, his leaving may be in _everyone's_ best interest."

"But..." Keller opened her mouth to argue.

Woolsey shook his head, stifling any further discussion. "This decision isn't in our hands."

The room fell silent for a long moment before anyone dared speak. No one looked at each other. No one breached the silence roaring in their ears heralding the rush of hot blood through the heart and to their faces. They could not and would not admit their individual and collected anger at the thoughts of passing Sheppard off onto strangers.

When Birkita spoke, it was softly and sweetly. "We will go with him."

"Birkita," Woolsey breathed. "You can't take that kind of a chance." When she met his gaze with those icy and set eyes of hers, Woolsey frowned. "The SGC doesn't know about... well...." Woolsey waved a hand. "Well, about you guys. As far as they and most of Atlantis is concerned, your people come from some far flung reach of Pegasus, not their back yard."

"They know enough for us to pretend," Birkita countered, rising slowly as a gossamer web of crafted lies spun in the back of her mind. "Weylin will escort me. We can pose as the emissaries of Garou rebels seeking forgiveness for what happened to Sheppard and go on our hands and knees begging for help."

Woolsey arched an eyebrow. "And what if they agree?"

Birkita frowned, her barely pink lips scrunching tightly, but Weylin came to her aid. "We'll make sure the price stays too high. Throw them off. Baffle 'em with our bullshit."

"And if they see right through your plan?" the director contested smartly.

Ronon stood abruptly. "I'll be there to make sure that doesn't happen."

Weylin gave a low nod of approval, but Woolsey stared at the three before him in surprise. It had been no great shock that Ronon would volunteer with such conviction. In fact, Woolsey had been more taken back that the Satedan had waited so long for the true Garou to make the first move. It was Birkita that surprised Woolsey. She had staunchly argued not too many years ago that she would _never _return to Earth, under any circumstances, for fear that the SGC would discover the truth about the Garou's origins. And, yet, there she stood, her icy eyes boring holes into him.

When she spoke once more, it was with a fire and steely determination that only a true queen could muster. "Sheppard risked his life to save Weylin and I, and our entire race without even knowing us, without owing us anything. He is a hero to the Garou. What kind of a race would we be if we turned our backs on him now?"

A breath of terse silence yawned over the conference table before Lorne heaved in earnest, "Human."

Birkita dipped her head and narrowed her frozen eyes, her voice laced with a calculated venom. "Precisely."

Woolsey sighed in resignation at the defiance in the pale Garou. "It's not like I could have stopped you if I tried." He rubbed his forehead once more. "Alright. I'll contact SGC to make appropriate arrangements. Be ready by 1400."

xxxx

Rodney had not wanted to attend a pointless meeting that would serve as nothing more than added pomp and circumstance to the already closed decision to return Sheppard to Earth. He had seen the look on Landry's face, stern and cut, resigned to this sheer stupidity. Rodney knew that look full well, after years of dealing with the American military in various facets, and knew the cold, unfeeling distance it posed. There could be no question; the SGC would not be moved on this matter.

Instead, McKay made his way first to the labs he had declared a home of sorts over the years to make a few false starts at a few projects. McKay often sought the comfort and quiet of his work. In the lab, hunched over a work bench, buried in his calculations and invention, the world seemed simpler, easier, less cluttered. The worries and tangled webs of a universe bowed by human sentiment fell away in favor of the math, pure and perfect, without any of the gnawing shades of gray that occupied the real world. Yet, that day, the work brought not even the tiniest of comforts, and the physicists soon found himself wandering the halls.

It surprised McKay when his feet brought him to the entrance to the infirmary. He hardly went to see Sheppard now that the colonel had been found. The physicist couldn't bring himself to visit often, as Teyla and Ronon had. This frightened, battered creature masquerading as Sheppard seemed an insult to the memories of the courageous soldier that had single-handedly saved Rodney's skin on innumerable occasions, and the mere thought of the scrawny, barely living body that Ronon carried back through the gate turned McKay's stomach sour. And, still, there he was, staring at the doors as though the firing squad stood on the other side waiting for him.

McKay sighed and steeled himself, pushing through the doors and throwing himself inside before his nerve had the chance to break. He couldn't go back with Sheppard. McKay knew it. There was too much to be done on Atlantis, too much that required his delicate touch and unfathomable understanding of Ancient technology, especially in the wake of the near catastrophic flooding. And, worse, to go home would feel like admitting defeat, acknowledging that this really wasn't the Sheppard he knew that they'd found in some dank, dark cell, shackled and trussed like a wild beast.

A few of the nurses waved their greeting, but Rodney largely ignored them in favor of the door to the isolation unit. He held a deep breath before stepping into what felt like a silent tomb. In the center of the room, Sheppard had been sprawled out upon a gurney, fully sedated, and restrained once more. Even under his chemical induced slumber, he looked utterly exhausted, fragile and delicate, so thin and almost brittle in a way.

Rodney had waited six years for Sheppard to come back. Six long years. And, during those long years, he had often imagined Sheppard would come back perhaps a bit the worse for wear, but nothing like this. He had dreamt of an easy return of their playful banter and verbal sparring, not the frightened panic Sheppard greeting everyone with. In his worst of visions of Sheppard's return, the physicist imagined he and the rest of the team taking shifts, holding Sheppard by the hand until he woke, but, now, McKay worried that even touching Sheppard would set off another fit of pure terror. Instead, Rodney settled for listening to the shallow breaths of his sleeping friend, savoring the sound of each and every miraculous, rasped inhalation.

The intruder did not dare mask their entrance. They strode in defiantly and heavily according to the footsteps, indicating a larger person by the weight. Ronon or Weylin. Rodney did not bother to glance over his shoulder. He waited for the newcomer to announce themselves, drawing a deep breath as he did.

Finally, the intruder spoke in a low tone. "You heard?"

"Yeah, I heard, Weylin," the physicist growled. "Heard the whole damned thing. I know they're sending him back." He curled his lip and feigned in an irritated falsetto, "Oh, this soldier's broken, we're better send it back and order a new one."

Weylin said nothing for a long moment, allowing McKay his time to vent, before announcing rather matter-of-factly, "We're going with him." Rodney finally looking over his shoulder to the Garou, cocking his eyebrow in surprise; Weylin supplied, "Birkita, Ronon and me."

"Why? So you can feel better about yourselves?" McKay snapped sulkily, shaking his head. "Sweep in to save the day and pretend like nothing ever happened? Play the part of the good samaritan?"

Weylin did not dignify the statement with the snarled response that lurked so readily upon the tongue. "No." It seemed more an affirmation to himself than to McKay, and, so, the Garou repeated it, tasting the word solidly upon his own tongue. "No. Birkita ordered it." He looked down almost solemnly. "We owe him."

Another long and exceedingly awkward moment spanned when neither man dared say a word. Neither had ever been anything close to friends over the years. If anything, Rodney rather blamed Weylin. After all, it had been the Garou who had sent Sheppard back on that suicide mission to retrieve Birkita. Rodney never cared for the wolves and their secretive ways, their brutal yet exacting methods, preferring to maintain a rather sizable distance between himself and the two true Garou to occupy Atlantis.

"I'm not a strong man. Not like Ronon. Not like you or any of your.... _kind_," Rodney whispered slowly and almost deliberately faintly before turning and glaring directly at the hulking Garou, his eyes dark and his voice cold. "But I am an _intelligent _man, more so than you could ever possibly imagine. Sheppard is a good man and a good friend, and, if you let anything happen to him - and I do mean _anything_ - I will make damned sure to devote every waking minute of my life to ensuring that you and your entire species pays quite dearly for it. Do I make myself absolutely clear?"

"As day," the Garou rumbled in reply.

Rodney stood abruptly, kicking the chair out from beneath himself with a fury that the somewhat meek and whiny physicist hardly seemed capable of. "You swear it. Swear it, Weylin. Swear it."

"I swear," the Garou instantly replied without a shadow of question or uncertainty in his eyes.

Rodney nodded numbly, averting his gaze now that his nerve had broken when faced by the seeming impenetrable wall of sinew and bone that was Weylin; he looked to Sheppard once more and breathed, "You said your kind never goes back on their word."

"We don't," Weylin said with a stern conviction.

McKay gave another limp nod. "Don't force me to hold you to it."

"I won't," the Garou responded simply before adding brusquely in a tight snarl, "And you didn't have to make me swear. I told you. We _owe _him, and we always make good on our debts."

xxxx

Teyla had known long before the gentle rap on her door that she would come to her. The Athosian smiled serenely to herself, her lips curling faintly as she glided across the room, careful not to disturb her slumbering son taking his morning nap. She opened the door, unsurprised to find the young woman standing just at the threshold.

"Lady Birkita," she greeted, dipping her head slightly as she used the honorific to distinguish the Garou's human skin from her wolf pelt.

The Garou scowled. "Don't call me that. I'm not.... deserving."

Teyla allowed the self-reproach at a time when she might otherwise chastise the Garou for such a statement, stating softly, "Of course."

Birkita's time in Atlantis had been strained at best. She struggled daily with the position she had been born to by her unique eyes and pale skin, by a blessing the Garou perceived as more of a curse than a boon. She had often come to the Athosian in search of counsel, recognizing the woman's innate leadership skills borne of her own unique position. Teyla saw parts of her younger self in Birkita, nervous and wary of the sway she held over her own people, terrified that she would fail her own kin by one small slip, one tiny yet fatal error. Teyla took pity on the Garou, taking Birkita under her wing and teaching her the laws and ways of Athosian leaders, in turn coaxing the well guarded laws of the night from Birkita. The Garou made her place studiously at Teyla's right hand, even accompanying the Athosian off world, slinking by the woman's side in her snowy wolf skin.

"Are you prepared for your journey?" Teyla inquired, her voice carrying her concern for a creature that, at times, had seemed a sister of sorts. The Garou nodded and cast her gaze downward for but a fraction of a second; Teyla noticed and quickly asked, "You are not happy to return to Earth?"

"No," came Birkita's sullen reply.

"It has been several years since you have seen your people," Teyla began.

Birkita mentally calculated and supplied somewhat hesitantly, "Nine years, since the storm."

"I would imagine you would be elated to set foot on your home world once more, even if it is under unpleasant circumstances," the woman rationalized.

"Earth is..... it will be different," Birkita breathed before closing the distance between them and wrapping her slender arms about the Athosian in a warm embrace. "Thank you, Teyla."

"For what?"

The Garou smiled wistfully. "For everything." She looked away, averting her icy gaze. "I just.... I wanted to say goodbye."

"You make it sound final." Teyla furrowed her brow. "You are not interested in returning?"

"No. I love it here. Aside from a few assholes, the people here are good people. You just.... accept what Weylin and I are, like it's nothing horrible, nothing to be hidden as though there is something... _wrong _with us." Birkita gave another dreamy smile. "I like not having to hide what I am, to be ashamed of my second nature and fearing for my life purely because I am... different. Even among the Garou, I am treated oddly." Birkita shook her head, tousling her ivory mane. "It's nice not having to worry about all that, but I must be realistic. There would be too much working against me if I ever even dared dream about coming back to Atlantis and Pegasus."

"Like?" Teyla questioned, her curiosity piqued at this.

Birkita gave an elaborate shrug of her slender shoulders. "I am responsible for John Sheppard." She fixed a feral glare upon the Athosian. "I will not leave him."

"He will heal, with time," Teyla stated, unsure as to whether she said it to assure herself or to assure the Garou before her.

The albino sniffed. "Even if it were that simple to just will him to be better - and you, of all people, must know it isn't - it's just.... not that simple." Birkita paused for a moment, reflecting oddly on the subject. "I am a holy person among my people. They aren't likely to just let me vanish again if they ever found out I'm still alive. Even if the Tribes consented to allowing my return, I seriously doubt the army would let me waltz up and ask to travel back through a thing that _doesn't _exist, to a place that _doesn't_ exist, to a city that's _just _a myth, to stay with people who are all tucked quite safe and sound on Earth working on mundane but entirely hush-hush projects. And that's providing this plan actually works." The girl gave a barking laugh. "Doesn't seem in the stars."

"You do not know that," Teyla argued softly.

Birkita frowned once more, toying with one of the many pockets of the BDUs. "No, but you do. This return will not be an easy one, Teyla. We have broken many of the laws of the Garou, and there will be consequences."

Teyla nodded slowly in commiseration. "It is an extremely lonely road that you and I must walk with the burdens we bear for our peoples."

Teyla stepped back, just enough to survey the Garou. The albino creature seemed strangely ill suited to the black fatigues supplied by the Atlantis expedition. Something so colorless as Birkita had no business juxtaposed against something so unyieldingly dark, coming across as harsh to the eyes and unnatural. The girl looked both awkward and uncomfortable to be confined in such clothing.

Finally, Teyla's lips curled into a tiny and mischievous smirk. "Returning royalty should look fitting to their station." The pale girl's brow knit, but Teyla bade her to enter. "I have just the thing."

The Garou cocked her head to the side in an almost canine expression of curiosity and wonder, drifting alongside the Athosian as Teyla ferried her to an almost innocuous trunk nestled on the side of the room between bookshelves with assorted pieces of literature and antiquities collected on various missions. An artfully arranged cluster of meditation candles had been carefully placed upon it with the care of zen gardening, but Teyla quickly scooped up the offending pillars. With little adieu, the Athosian eased the trunk open, revealing the silvery, embroidered robes and gleaming jewels contained therein. It was the ornate and gilded silk and filigree jewelry that Birkita had come bursting through the gate to the Alpha site draped in.

"I thought I asked for these to be destroyed," Birkita whispered, touching her fingers tenderly to the fabric before jerking her hand away as though burnt.

Teyla nodded. "You did. I had thought that, with time, you might think differently than you did at that moment." She gave a knowing look. "I had hoped that the situation might change, and that you might be in need something a little more formal one day."

Birkita's lips quirked at the edges as she stroked the fabric that had once been so symbolic of her servitude to Turali Sin'ai and now heralded her freedom, her escape. "This could work."

xxxx

_Six years earlier :_

Rodney and Teyla obediently followed the old Garou through a downright ancient feeling woods that loomed menacingly over the trio. The tall trunks cast eerie shadows over them as narrow slivers of silver light slipped down to a floor bedded by soft, spongy moss and thick groves of rustling ferns. The cushioned loam seemed to absorb the sounds of the stranger's moments as he slipped nimbly through the underbrush, leading the way with an ease that betrayed his prior weak and feeble visage. He lead them swiftly and without delay through the forests to a narrow, babbling stream.

Only then did Rodney finally bark in his irritation, "Wait, wait, wait."

The Garou turned on a dime, snarling, "We don't have time for this."

"Make time," the physicist snapped. "Who the hell are you people? How do you know about Earth and Canada?"

"Rodney," Teyla whispered low in caution. "We should keep moving."

"No. I'm not moving until I get some straight answers." The Lantean shook his head and made a frantic, halting gesture with his fingers. "All these.... these _Garou _have done is lie to us and trick us." Rodney said the word as though it were a curse in its own right, vile and disgusting to utter. "He could be leading us right into a grizzly, horrible trap, and we'd be none the wiser until it was sprung."

"Rodney!" the Athosian hissed in surprise at his sudden acidity.

"No." He glared viciously at the stranger. "Who are you, _really_?"

The old Garou seemed to slump and shrink back slightly in what may have been regret or what may have been carefully masked annoyance, answering steadily, "My name is Vortigern Canagan of the Avoyelles."

"Where did you come from?" McKay demanded, folding his arms across his chest.

"I told you. Avoyelles," the Garou growled, lifting his lip in a wolfish snarl, before giving a shake of his head at the clear confusion. "S'a little parish just north of Baton Rouge."

The physicist blinked in shock, too stunned to savor the satisfaction of being right, stammering, "B-baton Rouge?" Vortigern gave a slow nod, and McKay swallowed hard, breathing, "I knew it. I _knew _it." Teyla furrowed her brow, and McKay explained, "Louisiana." At the Athosian's continued confusion, Rodney blurted out, "Earth! They're from Earth!"

"Earth?" Teyla cocked an eyebrow, turning to the old Garou. "You are truly from Earth?"

"Yeah." The Garou lifted his nose to the sky and sniffed deeply. "We'd better keep moving. Guards are coming."

"Why should we trust you now?" Rodney argued defensively, taking a small half step back and away from the Garou.

"Look," Vortigern leveled his gaze squarely upon the bitter and seething physicist. "We really don't have time for this. So you can either follow me to the gate and I promise we talk about this later, or you can set down right here and wait for them to come and get you. You go ahead and do what you want-" he gave a nod in the direction they had been traveling in. "-but me? I'm going for the gate. You comin'?"

Teyla looked to Rodney imploringly. The physicist flustered, jerking his head back and forth between the path they had just come and the Garou ahead of them. He thought of the citadel they had fled, of the fights in the pit and the rogue Wraith standing guard over 's heart fluttered for a second as she worried that, perhaps, Rodney might actually turn back to Sin'ai's castle, but, eventually, he sighed and gave a solemn nod.

"Okay, okay, fine. But you and your friends owe us some serious explaining," Rodney conceded as he slogged into the stream beside the Garou.

Vortigern smiled warmly, almost fatherly. "An' I promise I'll let you'll get them. Just get us home."

Their worries vaguely assailed for the moment, the three continued on their trek through the dark woods, led once more by the Garou. Occasionally, Vortigern - Fineas, whoever he _really _was - turned his nose once more, drawing in the varied scents of the night studiously, maintaining a grim scowl. He would come to a dead stop suddenly, his muscles freezing stiffly in place like a wolf on the hunt, sending shivers down Rodney's spine until he continued one once more. After a time, Vortigern hunkered down behind dense shrubbery, turning his head to the side as though to listen and absorb the sounds about him from the forests.

While the Garou continued to contemplate in his silent, predatory reverie, Rodney dared venture peer above the bushes, finding a gloriously horrible sight. There, in a small grove of what seemed this planet's equivalent of golden birches, stood the gate, bathed in a swath of bright moonlight. His heart leapt at the sight of it, trilling in his throat at this, what had become the most beautiful thing in the entire Pegasus galaxy. Then, Rodney swore under his breath as contingent of perhaps twenty guards emerged from the dark, taking up post around the gate and turning out to the woods.

_"Stranded offworld in the woods with a Roger Corwin extra." _Rodney groaned inwardly, _"Where's Sheppard when you need him?"_

xxxx

Weylin loped uneasily through the forests, his left foreleg dripping thick droplets of blood upon the ground. He paused for a moment, glancing down at the wound with wide, canine eyes and daring to lick at it slightly. His own blood tasted warm and salty with a hint of something metallic underneath it all. The wolf's lips twisted into a feral scowl. The bleeding refused to staunch.

Guards shouted behind him, rallied as they ran through the woods. The wolf's pointed snout jerked up to look behind him. The guards were close and closing, judging by the steady crescendo of footfall through the otherwise silent and still woods. He turned his nose upward, drinking in the night and the scents carried upwind from the guards to him, sampling their musk and sweat as they ran under heavy, confining armor. Weylin could have laughed it he still had the appropriate mouth and vocal chords to form the sound. Weighted down as they were, the soldiers had allowed a sizable distance to yawn between them and the escaped Garou; it would be a few minutes before they caught up with the lone wolf.

Weylin gave another glance to his wound. He could shift and move faster on two legs for once, taking the weight off the injury. He could also put pressure on the gaping wound then in hopes of stopping the bleeding or at least stemming it enough to stop leaving such a damned obvious trail of scarlet splatter right to him.

The wolf closed his eyes, clenching his muscles as the night sang through him to shift, but stopped when a voice cried out in the night from behind, "LOOK OUT!"

Weylin's golden eyes shot open. Birkita. He would know her voice anywhere and anytime; she sounded frightened and horrified. Weylin's heart thundered in his chest as he instinctively spun about on legs meant for running with the night and catching the dawn. His long toes curled, gripping into the soft loam as he bolted through the forests despite the throbbing agony of his shoulder. There would be time enough to tend to wounds later.

xxxx

The abrupt motion from the albino and the quick shriek caught Sheppard off guard, sending him jumping from his resting spot at the base of the tree, and just in the nick of time. The damp trunk exploded in a burst of sodden splinters right where he had been crouched in respite. Sheppard whipped about to spy the rogue Wraith, clad in his crimson armor, expertly jerking his curved sword from where it was embedded into the ancient tree, where Sheppard's scrawny neck had resided just milliseconds before.

The Wraith hissed through his teeth, and the colonel swatted his hand in Birkita's direction. "Get back!"

Birkita needed no instruction, slipping back into dark shadows that could not even conceal her ghostly pallor. She stood out in the darkness, practically glowing like the moon with reflected light, giving her a downright ethereal appearance in the black. Her robes shimmered with the motion, adding to the almost supernatural look.

She obeyed, but, out of the corner of Sheppard's eyes, he caught the ripple of muscles bulging and knotting beyond their natural breadth. The girl bit her pink lip as though biting back the urge to change, to shift to the wild that lurked below and embrace the predator within. Claws grew long and curled, digging into the soft wood of the tree before her. Sheppard could have kicked himself as he noticed that right while the Wraith sprung, recalling that the girl was just as much of a walking, talking weapon as the other damned wolf, Weylin.

The Wraith swung, sweeping his long, dangerously honed blade at Sheppard, who narrowly ducked below it; the colonel silently thanked his lucky stars for all of both Ronon's and Teyla's intensive training as he felt the cool kiss of air on the nape of his neck from a rather close shave. He came up swiftly, dancing back easily from the predator before the Wraith could swing again. The colonel bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, skimming over the ground and keeping his eyes training between both the approaching Wraith and the earth beneath his feet, mindful to watch his step for the myriad of roots and fallen branches that threatened to trip him, another of both his tutors' hard learned but well remembered lessons.

The Wraith growled audible, slinking and circling to the left, hunching his shoulders and lowering to a feral and stalking crouch, like a predator dropping its center of gravity. Sheppard slipped to his left, keeping as much distance between himself and the heavily armed and clearly enraged Wraith as possible. The colonel mirrored his actions, mindful that the only way he could really best the heavier, stocky Wraith was to get below him and offset the beast's balance.

The Wraith swung again, thrusting forward with the motion. Teyla whispered in Sheppard's ear, guiding him back and away. The Wraith stepped into the motion, drawing back and trying to catch the colonel on the back swing as he whirled about. Ronon grumbled faintly his own tutelage, and Sheppard dropped to his knees below the sword, kicking out and springing back, away from the Wraith.

The lonely howl of a wolf broke the night.

Sheppard glanced over his shoulder as the Wraith charged again, just in time to see Birkita lift jowls only part human to the sky to answer with a keening cry, lamenting it seemed.

The Wraith took the momentary distraction to his advantage and drew close, stabbing out and slashing with the blade, catching Sheppard off guard and by the arm. The colonel grunted as the sharp edge clipped his forearm with a white hot oath. The blade flashed back, coated with crimson from where it had drawn blood. Sheppard jerked back in surprise, but the Wraith stood his ground, licking the red stain with an eager tongue before casting the sword aside. Sheppard swallowed; he knew all too well from personal experience a hungry Wraith with blood on the air was infinitely worse than a merely pissed off Wraith.

Sheppard gasped and shouted, "Birkita, go!"

The albino gave a quick nod and bolted to the black of the night, leaving the rogue and the colonel. The Wraith lunged, casting his sword aside, its ghastly feeding hand rearing back to strike at Sheppard as the colonel stumbled back and away. The human's ankle caught on a loose root, tripping him to the ground. The Wraith sneered as it leapt, catching the colonel by his aching wrist and holding his prey tightly. Sheppard's eyes went wide, following the slit in the palm as it came crashing down towards him.

It never connected. A black blur slammed into the Wraith and sent the beast to the ground. The Wraith snarled and grunted as it landed, recovering quickly, but the blur moved faster. Weylin, come to Sheppard's rescue. The wolf snapped and bared its teeth, growling intently as the Garou pinned his ears flat down. His ebony pelt stood on end, as though electrified by the night and the hunt as he jumped for the Wraith again, mouth gaping wide with ivory teeth. The Garou tackled the fallen Wraith once more, biting and swiping with massive paws meant for primal battle.

A part of Sheppard felt entranced by the battle, the same part of him that vaguely enjoyed late night nature bad horror movies. There was something perfect and honed about both the Garou and the Wraith, clearly upper members of their respective food chains. As the Wraith scrambled and twisted under the heavy Garou that bit and slashed, Sheppard could not help but feel the small, child watching some cheesy, b-horror flick of _Dracula vs. The Wolfman_, or something equally inane.

Weylin seemed to be holding his own well enough until the Wraith dug its long, talon like fingers into the wide gash in Weylin's shoulder. The wolf yelped a high pitched note of pain. The Wraith sneered in the Garou's face, delighted in the Weylin's suffering, before hurling the wolf from off of him and sending the black creature flying. Garou were strong, nearly as strong as the Wraith, but no creature could best a Wraith in a contest of pure, physical ability. The Garou collided sharply with a tree, landing to the ground in a crumpled heap. The Wraith rose quickly, crossing the ground to his fallen foe in a heartbeat, savoring the disorientation in the Garou that lay before him as Weylin seemed to be hauling himself back to his senses. The Wraith reached down, snatching the black beast by the scruff and hauling him off his paws.

John hurled himself at the Wraith, throwing his arms about the monster's wide shoulders and neck to choke him out. The colonel knew from past trial and error that it was a futile attempt at taking down a beast like the Wraith, but he had only opened to break the beast's hold of Weylin. The Wraith snarled, jerking back and twisting abruptly, shaking Sheppard loose and tossing him to the ground. The colonel landed hard, the wind knocked from him hard, his wrist crying out with white hot shards of pain lancing through him. The Wraith spun about, Weylin stil in hand, kicking the fallen colonel square in the ribcage, eliciting a stifled grunt before drawing the Garou up and returning his full attention to the ebony wolf.

"I told you I would remind you of your place," the Wraith intoned with no small measure of venom.

The colonel almost wanted to run, to leave Weylin and the other Garou to the Wraith and whatever punishment the beast deemed fit. Yet Sheppard could not. His body moved of its own accord, his hand slipping to the side and grabbing a hefty rock, reassured by the weight. As the Wraith reached up with his free hand to twist the Garou's head and snap Weylin's neck, Sheppard moved, his legs carrying him without thought, without care, and without fear right for the Wraith. He drew the rock back, coiling his arm like a snake to strike.

When Sheppard did strike, it was powerful and driving, with a blow that he hardly thought himself capable of delivering. The rock smashed down upon what passed for a skull in the Wraith with a sickly, fibrous crunching sound of hard chitin crackling beneath the skin. The Wraith's grip on Weylin instantly slipped, and the ebony wolf dropped to the ground. Sheppard struck again and again, until the Wraith finally went down to his knees. Maddened by fight and the thrill of victory, Sheppard drove one, last blow, felling the Wraith. He stood there, panting, and staring down at the rogue Wraith, collecting himself.

Sheppard glanced to Weylin who moved awkwardly to get back on his feet, both well aware that a little thing like massive cranial trauma would only keep a Wraith down for so long. Sheppard let the black stained rock fall to the ground beside the Wraith, his body still trembling and quivering with the massive flooding of adrenaline, his breaths still harsh as he worked to control the sensation and ride out the lingering runner's high. The ebony wolf shook its head, loosing the last remnants of disorientation. Both moved with a purpose, readying themselves instantly for flight.

Sheppard let out a deep breath, willing his muscles to relax and his heart to still once more, before looking to the shadowed wolf. "Come on."

**XXX**

**XXXXX**

**XXX**

**Author's Notes : **Bah, lots of present time drama, but no Dog drama. *pouts* I promise, this chapter was necessary to set up both present and past tense drama.

Next chapter: Homeward bound? Is it really such a good thing for Sheppard, Ronon, or the true Garou? Yeah, you guys guessed it: it's not. But at least Ronon's sticking around to keep the puppy safe from horrible, evil fic writers who love creating too much havoc and dramamine. Angst abounds with appearances from Carter and O'Neill!


	11. Wax and Wane

**FEAST OF THE SAMHAIN - WAX AND WANE**

Aside from the historic first expeditions to both Abydos and Atlantis and the few somber, military funerals held there, at the base of the Stargate, Samantha Carter highly doubted there had ever been as many people crammed into the gate room or the command center than at that moment. A contingent of armed marines stood as well as a secondary squad representing the Air Force in their dress blues. A more than ample battalion of doctors and nurses from the infirmary pressed together, all eager to spring into action, waiting nervously. A steady stream of superfluous scientists, scholars, linguists, and dignitaries had been filtering into the command center, sending the technicians into a fit from the downright claustrophobic working conditions that day.

The entire SGC buzzed with activity and gossip ever since Atlantis hailed back with news of the Garou representatives who had so fervently insisted upon accompanying Sheppard back to Earth. Many of the soldiers and scientists who had traveled to Atlantis knew of both the Lady Birkita Canagan and Weylin Canagan-Filtiarn, but there were so many at the SGC who had not. Those fascinated and intrigued swarms swapped stories and folklore of the werewolves stemming from horror movies and their own, assorted heritages. They came to see the Garou, curious of their strength, their character, but, mostly, of their second nature. They all simply wanted to catch a glimpse of what a _true _werewolf looked like after centuries of myth and science fiction tales.

With that in mind, a part of Sam had to concede that they were due their curiosity, yet another part felt more than mildly annoyed by the presence of so many. She had not known Sheppard as well as others during her duration of CO of Atlantis, and that had been years ago. Yet, she knew Sheppard well enough to know he'd hate it that so many people were waiting to stare at him coming home. Sheppard had never appreciate the stares and the mothering in the infirmary after an injury or illness grounded him between missions, and Sam felt certain he would most certainly hate it when he laid eyes upon all those gathered to see what shape he was in after six years of captivity. Sheppard at least deserved the dignity of a little privacy after everything he'd been through.

Carter smoothed her dress jacket, subconsciously straightening the row of brass buttons. Landry had respectfully yet firmly requested that any personnel not enlisted to the security detail or the medical team directly assigned to Sheppard's care to dress "appropriately for entertaining foreign dignitaries" upon receiving Woolsey's terse transmission about the Garou. Landry, as well as much of the SGC, had been well aware of both Ronon's and Weylin's sordid adventures in search of John Sheppard, but no one had known that a true ruler among the Garou had been located in the interim. In the best interests of forging new alliances with a species clearly adept at blending seamlessly among even the most hostile of forces, Landry decided to put their best foot forward and at least entertain the possibility that a rebel faction might have something to offer Earth.

Carter smirked at the thought. She had met Weylin Canagan-Filtiarn once or twice in passing on a brief stopover in Atlantis aboard the _General Hammond_. Somehow, judging by the Garou's rough demeanor and appearance that mirrored Ronon's at times, Carter highly doubted the dress blues were necessary for any Garou representative, no matter how prim.

Beside her, Daniel Jackson fumbled with his tie nervously, clearly flustered by the activity and the sheer improbability of it all. He had been the very first of all the linguists and social scientists to volunteer to represent Earth's many cultures towards the Garou. Dozens had come forward within the space of a few hours, but Landry hand picked Jackson, likely due to all his time with the Stargate program as well as his years of in field experience when faced with exotic cultures and species.

Jackson must have noticed Carter's study, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and smirked sheepishly; Carter gave him a small smile. "Relax. Weylin's a puppy."

"If you like puppies with sharp, pointy fangs and claws," a familiar voice called from behind.

Both Carter and Jackson jumped; neither had been expecting General O'Neill's presence. They had rather expected the general to be occupied with the Department of Homeworld Security. However, there he was, in his own dress blues. O'Neill seemed bowed somehow, his expression soft and almost weary in a way. Carter frowned slighted but, before she could inquire, the gate engaged with the hiss of metal on metal as the interior ring rotated to fix coordinates. Carter shot him a sideways glance as the wormhole burst open with a flash of crystalline, shimmering blue light and as General Landry took his place at O'Neill's side.

Walter Harriman announced over the loudspeakers from the control center, "Incoming wormhole from Atlantis."

A collective deep breath was drawn by all gathered and held. The first through the gate were a few marines due back for r&r. They approached and saluted the general before stepping aside as the remaining travelers stepped through. All eyes settled upon the wormhole expectantly.

First came Weylin Canagan-Filtiarn, decked out in black BDUs, his ebony hair swept back in a neat ponytail. He was as Carter recalled both from their brief acquaintance on Atlantis. O'Neill may never have met the Garou, but he would recognize the wolf anywhere from the service records and reports relayed from Woolsey back to Earth. Muscular, solid, defined, and proud. He carried himself with an air of surety, despite traveling to an alien galaxy. O'Neill knew that Weylin had served the program loyally and without question so long as he could continue to use the city as a home base for his search for the Anput. O'Neill and Sam smiled warmly in greeting at the wolf as he gave a curt nod to the crowds who had come to see the inbound group.

Behind him came Ronon Dex. The massive runner tenderly cradled a blanket shrouded form close to his chest. Dr. Carolyn Lam and her medical team moved into action immediately before anyone else could recognize what he held, pushing a wheelchair up the ramp to greet him. There were no words exchanged. Ronon merely glanced to the soldiers and scientists gathered in curiosity before scowling and shaking his head. Yet, instead of making any sort of snappy remark, the Satedan gently eased the strange shape into the wheelchair with some delicate help from the doctor.

O'Neill would have liked to watch the strange scene more closely, especially as Ronon and Lam shared whispered words, but something caught his eye behind them. The gate flashed one last time as someone else stepped from the ring before the wormhole deactivated and shimmered away. O'Neill furrowed his brow and stood at stiff attention despite the murmurs from the crowds.

There she stood, in all her radiant glory in her light dress, like the Lady of the Lake plucked right out of Arthurian legend. Lady Birkita Canagan. Queen of the Garou and Anput, or so Weylin had suggested on numerous occasions. Blessed of the Moon, the wolf had called her. Lady Birkita appeared as a colorless creature, completely albino right down to ivory hair. She held the curious in her stiff, frozen gaze of two, different colored eyes, as though with a vague disdain befitting royalty.

Unlike the returning marines and the other two Pegasus natives, Lady Birkita had dressed for the occasion, so much so that it made even Carter flush, thinking perhaps she was still a little dressed _down _for this in her pressed blues. She wore a regal, white, sari-like garment, draped elegantly upon her slender figure. The gossamer fabric had been embroidered with ornate curls of gleaming, silver thread. Upon her neck, the Lady wore a heavy, silver choker that encased her neck in curled filigree, spilling down her chest with sparkling, light blue jewels. A matching tiara topped her head amid the intricately knotted pile of her blanched hair. She moved on pale, bare feet down the ramp, practically gliding on air towards the group of dignitaries.

Ronon shot the Lady a quick, questioning look, and the colorless Garou rewarded him with a slight incline of her head. He nodded to Dr. Lam, and the medical team whisked the huddled form in the wheelchair away, with the Satedan following close at their heels. This left the Garou dignitaries as Weylin slid to his place at Lady Birkita's right hand, escorting her forwards to meet the Earth delegates.

When the albino spoke, it was with the delicate and practiced charm of true royalty, extending a pale hand to them. "I am Lady Birkita Canagan."

"Major General Hank Landry, USAF," Landry greeted, taking her hand.

The albino's lips curled in the slight suggestion of a smile as she delicate squeeze of his hand, breathing, "Charmed."

She turned her attention to the others of the greeting party; O'Neill took this as his cue. "Brigadier General Jack O'Neill, USAF and Department of Homeworld Security."

The female Garou dipped her head, allowing him to take her hand for a tiny squeeze as well before moving along to Carter, who respectfully supplied, "Colonel Samantha Carter, USAF, captain of the _General Hammond._"

When the Garou looked to Jackson, he smiled warmly and extended a hand to her in greeting, "Dr. Daniel Jackson."

The Lady cocked an eyebrow. "_Dr_. Jackson?" The linguist nodded, and Lady Birkita furrowed her brow. "Your field?"

"Archeology primarily, anthropology and linguistics as well."

Lady Birkita gave a contemplative bow of her head, before flicking her pale eyes uncomfortably to the dozens of people gathered about; Landry stepped forward, suggesting smoothly, "Well, perhaps we should get this show on the road. If you would follow me-"

"No," the Lady breathed simply and serenely.

Landry paused. "No?"

"No," Lady Birkita repeated once more, her voice firm and even, leaving no room for question. "The safe escort of John Sheppard is our primary concern. If you would kindly show us to your infirmary?"

O'Neill glanced to Landry, who calmly pointed out, "We're grateful for your assistance in reacquiring Colonel Sheppard-"

"Then you will kindly show us to your infirmary," the Lady insisted, her eyes narrowing slightly at the lack of response. "You bring a doctor here to study my people and crowds of onlookers as though we are merely some rare curio on display."

Daniel flinched at the glaring social blunder. After Abydos, his place had always seemed so guaranteed in any negotiations, usually to smooth over any places were their Earthbound culture clashed with alien societies. The archeologist had never considered the implication of his presence as one of study, of prying. And, yet, the Garou had picked up on it, one of the first foreign societies to do so, and it had incensed the albino.

Jackson fumbled to apologize or to argue, but Lady Birkita cut him off curtly when his mouth dropped open, coldly accusing, "Rather poor etiquette for instilling diplomatic relations considering our prior captivity for amusement. You cannot possibly expect me to conduct civilized negotiations at this moment after this appalling display when my people are noted for having.... short tempers."

Landry shot a questioning look to O'Neill, who shrugged. "It may take a while for the docs to get Sheppard settled. Why don't I show you to guest quarters so you guys can relax and put your feet up for a bit before they're ready in the infirmary for visitors and we start negotiations."

The pale creature dipped her head cordially. "That would be most appreciated."

O'Neill gestured with a sweep of his arm for the Garou delegates to join him and follow, escorted by an armed complement of marines and the clearly flustered Landry. Jackson turned to Carter at his side, his cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. He gave a half-hearted shrug.

"Well... that could have gone better."

xxxx

Dog awoke slowly, his mind fogged for a moment before instantly clearing and giving way to a fresh terror. The world smelt.... _off. _He remembered the world smelling salty, mellow, and damp. This place smelt cold and antiseptic, as an electric humming flooded his ears. As his good eye brought the dimly lit room lined with empty beds into focus, Dog spied just how vastly different this place looked with its barren rock walls of unfeeling gray compared to the warm, muted colors and dazzling, abstract windows of the last place. He'd been moved somewhere, maybe another world even, to what looked like the care of yet another in a long line of uncaring vets.

Dog pulled feebly against the restraints that held him down before freezing stock stiff when a shadow fell over him. Someone stirred to his right side in the watery haze of his ruined vision. A silhouette passed beside him. Dog tensed, shifting his weight as far away as possible away from the form and whimpering as his aching muscles throbbed in protest from the abrupt motion.

"Shh.... Colonel Sheppard?" a voice whispered softly in his ear. "Colonel, I'm Second Lieutenant Juliet Norris."

A hand brushed Dog's arm, and he jerked at the burning contact of the touch, his head swimming. They taunted him so, daring to pretend to touch him with a gentle caress or soothing rub, calling him by names he remembered only in fractured. It hurt, cutting to the core and festering there. A tear rolled down his cheek. The silent tears turned into ragged sobs when a delicate thumb brushed the first droplet away. Why did they have to keep pretending like this? Teasing him so with false promises of compassion and kindness? Dog had already seen this game so many times to know better than to dare hope only to have the rug pulled right out from under him. He shuddered, wanting desperately to curl up on himself into a huddle and hide away from the world and the vile people who ruled it.

When the silhouette touched him again, something inside Dog snapped. He jerked up against the leather bonds that held him. Dog struggled against the pain, ignoring the white hot flares surging through his muscles as he jumped, lunging against the restraints. His jaws snapped at the shadow, clicking his teeth hard against one another but catching nothing. The silhouette merely jumped back and just out of reach with a sharp inhalation of surprise. A silent snarl rattled in his muted throat.

"DR. LAM!"

When the hands reached for him again, Dog lost track of everything save the need to fight and the musky scent of a predator lurking near. Hands gripped hard upon his arms, on bruises both old and new. They forcibly pressed him down against the palette, sending Dog's heart racing in wild hysterics, hammering in his ears.

A bass voice boomed, rumbling in Dog's ears. "GET BACK!"

Dog fought and bucked, snapping wildly until his teeth found purchase on flesh. Dog bit down hard, rewarded by the sweet, refreshingly coppery splash of blood on lilting across his tongue. Dog's awareness narrowed to the sensation of meat between his teeth and the warmth of fresh blood in his mouth. He clamped down with his jaws and tugged until something sharp jabbed at his arm and it grew harder and harder for Dog to lock down on the bite. The world grew fuzzy about the edges, and, in what felt like seconds, consciousness slipped away once more, allowing the dark embrace of sleep take Dog again.

xxxx

At 1700 hours promptly, Captain Nodonn Cole escorted the Garou delegates from their VIP guest quarters to the infirmary to visit with Colonel Sheppard. He had initially blinked and flummoxed upon seeing the pale creature, Lady Birkita Canagan, but swallowed and put his best foot forward. Cole had never seen anything _quite _like her, and the rumors that circulated hardly covered her startling, icing veneer. Birkita and Weylin were legend, and Cole felt humbled in their presence. She raised a brow to him but followed silently, accompanied by her ever present and suspiciously skulking guard, Weylin. At the infirmary, she gently stroked the side of Colonel Sheppard's face and spoke in soft tones with Dr. Lam, inquiring politely of Sheppard's condition and occasionally offering her own, basic commentary before allowing herself, Weylin, and Ronon Dex to be ferried by Cole to the briefing room for negotiations to commence.

Nodonn Cole was a simple, rather unassuming serviceman. He had faithfully served his country within the Air Force for eleven years now. He stood of average height and breadth, but with sharp muscles. The men who served alongside Cole noted the captain's keen intellect, almost instinctive skills in combat, as well as his fierce determination. Those skills had garnered Cole a position within the Stargate program on one of the newer teams.

Captain Nodonn Cole had decided the first time he escorted the Garou delegates to the trying negotiations three days ago, that he rather liked the dour, distant Lady Birkita Canagan, for all he had heard of her. He had volunteered immediately to serve as their personal liaison for the duration of the negotiations. He had then returned to the infirmary to listen for any word on Sheppard to relay to the delegates until his services were required against. A little baby-sitting duty was the very least he could do, and, on the third day, when all hell broke loose, he thanked his lucky stars he had been there.

Cole jumped into action when Lieutenant Norris screamed in what sounded like utter terror, "DR. LAM!"

The careless nurse had gotten too close and tempted fate by far underestimating a frightened, cornered animal. Norris had jumped back and rather narrowly avoided having her fingers torn off by a terrified and struggling Colonel Sheppard. Cole moved without hesitation, shoving the nurse aside with a swat of his hand. He reached out for Sheppard, grabbing the flailing man by bony shoulders that felt delicate and fragile in Cole's massive hands. The captain shoved down, pushing Sheppard down onto the mattress, trying to be as careful as possible not to harm the frightened man once more.

The nurse drew close, a syringe in hand, but Nodonn shook his head at her, barking, "GET BACK!"

Sheppard's sweat slicked body slipped under his hold, and the injured man took that as his opportunity. He shifted under Cole, twisting until he managed to sink his teeth into Nodonn's arm. The captain grit his teeth, grunting through clenched jaws as Sheppard bit down harder and harder, frenzied by the blood upon his lips. Nodonn scowled, extending a begging hand to the frozen nurse and clawing for the syringe in her hands. As soon as he felt the cool plastic in his palm, Cole scrambled to pop the top off of the needle. He made a half-hearted attempt at threading the slender metal into the IV port before rearing back and stabbing it into the gaunt flesh of Sheppard's hip, swiftly injecting the contents. After a moment's further struggle, Sheppard's movements became weak, sluggish, and uncoordinated until he slumped back onto the bed, his eyes sliding shut once more.

Cole stepped back, letting out a steadying breath. When he looked to Norris, the nurse's face had gone ashen and pale. The captain furrowed his brow in confusion before he remembered the bleeding punctures in his arm from Sheppard's teeth. Cole gave a rather nonchalant shrug at the sight of his own savaged forearm and his hot blood pattering to the ground in a small pool, but the nurse stepped back, recoiling in horror from the captain.

"You.... he... _bit_ you..."

xxxx

_Six years earlier :_

Birkita Canagan ran through the forests, her shimmering, pale robes catching on thorns and branches every which way with tears and rends. She cared not as she bolted, her legs clawing up ground swiftly and her lungs drinking in the night. Dresses and material items could be replaced; the albino had already discovered just how oh so rarely second chances came in this universe. Birkita had been waiting for this day for so very long, for four years now, and the Garou would not allow it to go to waste. They would not get this chance again.

Birkita nimbly ducked behind a cluster of trees when a contingent of Turali Sin'ai's guards thundered up the trail through the woods. Birkita held a long, uneasy breath as they passed before letting it out in a swear. These forests were filled with Sin'ai's spies and his soldiers.

She continued on alone, following the scent trail of her father, silently cursing herself the whole way. This had, after all, been nothing but Birkita's fault. The Garou Sin'ai had caught had been disorganized and disobedient until _she _came. When Sin'ai unveiled her to his pets that first night under a radiant bank of unfamiliar, glittering stars and the soft glow of an alien moon, he revealed his very worst of weapons against their kind.

Birkita banished the thoughts from her mind when the wind stirred oddly overhead.

xxxx

Weylin limped alongside Sheppard through the dark forest, occasionally glancing over his shoulder to the human and giving a plaintive whine. It amazed Sheppard how much those golden, canine eyes could express underneath the mantle of midnight black fur. In this case, every minute angle of the Garou's face expressed nothing but annoyance at the human's lagging pace. The wolf could likely move far faster by himself, even with the gaping wound in his shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Sheppard muttered under his breath as he ran as fast as his own, human legs could take him.

The wolf took a few swifter steps ahead of him before freezing stiffly. Sheppard stopped on a dime, hunkering down beside the Garou. A twitch ran down the fur ruff down Weylin's spine. The Garou crouched low on his haunches, as though ready to spring.

Sheppard was no stranger to the subtle nuances of canine behavior. Every base these days seemed to either have some sort of guard dogs or mascot, and he had worked a brief stint once, ages ago, as a volunteer with Advanced Ground Search and Rescue. While he never personally had a canine partner in either case, Sheppard had grown quite accustomed to the minute details of a dog's mannerisms. Judging by Weylin's actions, something had the Garou spooked.

After a tense moment, the Garou regrouped, righting himself slowly and gingerly upon the injured leg. He turned and glancing to Sheppard imploringly, wagging his bushy tail. Sheppard nodded grimly and following, still wondering what had put the Garou on edge as the wolf moved cautiously now, occasionally pausing and studying the air about them for seemingly no reason before continuing on.

When a high pitched whine met Sheppard's ears, he knew what had Weylin so off. "Dart inbound!" The Garou looked over his shoulder to the colonel, but the human waved him on. "RUN! NOW!"

Weylin sprang, taking off without question, moving faster from Sheppard even as the culling beam came down behind them with a lightning bright flash of light.

xxxx

"SHIT! No time!" Rodney spat as soon as he saw the dart. "We need to get out of here, pronto." He glanced to the old Garou at his side. "A distraction would be _really _helpful right about now."

Vortigern smirked, a mischievous glint in his eye that belonged only upon the face of one of his kind, really. "Comin' right up."

Rodney went to argue but stilled himself when the old man's muscles rippled and rolled underneath his skin, bunching in ways no human musculature should. Vortigern's eyes grew dark and feral, the color draining in favor of the crisp, golden that the physicist had grown so accustomed to seeing in the Garou in such a short amount of time. Vortigern grinned madly from ear to ear, but his face contorted as bones shifted in ways no longer meant for human facial expression. The result left Rodney faced with a ghastly, macabre mouth lined with pointed, ivory fangs. He did not shift fully, however, and took on an eerie, blending visage somewhere between the man and beast that lingered beneath the flesh, toned and knotted with beefy muscles, his fingers adorned now with not stubby, human fingernails but long, honed talons. Tufts of coal gray fur lined his flesh. Vortigern raised his lips to the night and sang a lunar song, his sharp, deep howl reverberating deeply in both McKay's and Teyla's chests.

The old Garou stepped back, digging his feet into the ground to get good purchase. Teyla did not even bother to argue or plan. Instead, the Athosian fell into place instinctively behind the Garou, as if she knew the stranger's plan. She gave a reassuring nod to McKay, who stood there white as a ghost. Teyla was ready for Vortigern, long before McKay and well before the old Garou leapt.

Vortigern's speed and agility surprised McKay even now, after seeing the charade that had been the old Garou's life. The wolf moved quickly and efficiently, Teyla flying at his heels as Vortigern slammed through the lines of guards, teeth snapping and claws slashing wildly through the night. Teyla dragged McKay by his wrist, hauling him in the wolf's ever widening wake. Vortigern jumped into the guards, ignoring the report of rifle fire and gun shots all about him, keeping the Athosian behind him protected as he broke their ranks. The guards scattered madly, driven back by the charging Garou. They fired wildly, but their shots were ill timed and ill placed, missing Vortigern entirely.

At the DHD, Vortigern spun about, shoving McKay and Teyla behind his back, allowing the Athosian time to dial the Alpha site. She punched the coordinates swiftly as the Garou at her back growled viciously at the guards who had managed to regroup from their initial surprise.

Suddenly, something warm splattered on both McKay and Teyla from behind as the gate connected and the wormhole burst to life. They both started, but there was no time to investigate, nor worry. Sheppard would make sure Weylin and Birkita got to the Alpha site or an allied world, that they knew for certain. Any other problems could be dealt with in due time. McKay, Teyla, and Vortigern threw themselves through the wormhole.

xxxx

Birkita hurled herself back, into the shadows as soon as she heard the dart swooping overhead. She pressed deeply against the soft, damp bark of a dying tree, staring with wide eyes as the bright, blinding light of the culling beam cut through the darkness and into the forest. The dart swept over the lands as distant howls went up in the night and were quickly silenced by abrupt dematerialization in a twinkle of white light.

Rifle retorts crackled in the night to her side, along with a familiar wolf song. Birkita peered through the tall, ancient trees to spy a burst of blue light. The gateway. Turali Sin'ai had taken her through the great ring enough times to know what it was immediately. Vortigern and the others must have made it. She smiled wildly.

A sound caught Birkita's attention before she could start after the others. The heavy panting of a strained Garou coming in her direction, accompanied by the gentle patter of paws upon the spongy loam and followed by the heavier thumps of booted feet in pursuit. Birkita inhaled deeply, drinking in the scents of the night, the familiar musk of the wolf, and the metallic tang of blood on the air. She knew even before their silhouetted shadows split from the darkness of the woods and took solid forms who they were. Weylin and the interloper - Sheppard. Birkita's heart leapt, trilling in her throat.

Her heart sank into a deep pit to spy the dart shifting course towards the two now. The culling beam flashed in the night Weylin loped quickly, his strides increasingly labored by the ghastly wound on his shoulder.

Birkita bit her lip and hesitated, knowing what she had to do.

xxxx

Sheppard struggled to run, to dart and weave between the trees and thread through the underbrush as nimbly as the Garou. Yet, even injured as he was, Weylin moved with a stealthy, athletic grace that only a canine or other large predator could muster. The ebony creature ducked this way and that, narrowly dodging the culling beam. Sheppard, however, was entirely human and unable to muster such ease over the uneven forest floor, nearly tripping several times in his hasty escape.

It wouldn't be enough, the colonel knew, venturing a glance over his shoulder at the culling beam that drew ever near. Humans and Garou alike could only move so fast, while darts were agile crafts capable of incredible speeds that had sent Sheppard reeling the few times he had piloted one. They could only keep ahead of the dematerializing beam for so long before one of them slipped up and was caught. Sheppard tried not to dwell on that, especially as the culling beam swept forward with a horribly elegant play of silver beams to his left, focusing instead on the Garou leading the way ever closer to the Stargate and to their salvation.

And, there, through the trees, he saw it, glittering in a glorious, robin's egg blue. The Stargate. Home. Anything but this god-forsaken rock. Sheppard bolted, his muscles renewed by the sight of the gate. Even Weylin picked up his pace, throwing himself faster towards the metal ring.

The radiant white of the culling beam crossed the path in front of Sheppard, separating him from the ebony Garou and swooping towards him. Just before the culling beam could take him, though, Birkita stepped out in the path before him, swinging her arms and crying out in the night in a voice not quite human and not quite wolf. Weylin's jowls parted to scream out for her in a low, keening howl, but she did not move. The albino stared up defiantly at the dart until the last possible second when she closed her eyes before the culling beam swept her away.

"BIRKITA!' Sheppard bellowed, jumping for her right as the culling beam cut over her.

The world flashed away in a sea of white light.

xxxx

Weylin blinked in disbelief as the dart scooped up both Sheppard and Birkita, but he could do nothing for them now. Instead, he turned on his heels, running so hard and so fast, his heart threatened to slam right out of his chest. The guards rallied, shooting at him, but not a one could catch the wolf. Weylin hurled himself into the event horizon before they could get him.

On the other side of the gate, the dark of the night gave way instantly to a dazzling, cloudless and impossibly blue sky. The wolf emerged in the embracing safety of a pleasant, golden summer morning on the Alpha site of Solaris. This uninhabited world had been in use as the Alpha site for a few months now. Solaris offered relatively mild seasons, including a spring that seemed to stretch almost as endlessly as the fields of wildflowers and waving grain stalks about the gate. The first three had tumbled out into a tangled heap in the soft grasses for a moment, catching their breath.

Weylin tripped right over them in his hurry, spiking himself to the ground where he landed in a decidedly ungraceful heap. There, he shed his ebony pelt and retook his human skin. Weylin did not move, sucking rasping breaths and gulping at the fresh air.

McKay detached himself from the group, disengaged, the wormhole and whooped triumphantly, "We made it!"

Teyla said nothing in her shock, inquisitively touching her back and whatever sticky warmth had splashed upon them. When she withdrew her hand, she found her fingertips tinted scarlet. Her face fell. Teyla instantly glanced to McKay, but, aside from the stains upon him, the physicist appeared unharmed. At her side, however, the old Garou did not move.

"Vortigern?" the Athosian breathed in concern.

The Garou gave a low, quiet moan. Teyla gently rolled the Garou onto his back to survey the damage, but the life left Vortigern's eyes before she could do anything for him before they slid closed. Teyla stilled. His body shuddered and convulsed once, twice, before the fur retracted as Vortigern retook a human shape. The Athosian surveyed the damage, finding only a single gunshot wound to his shoulder, the bullet having passed clean through to the other side, but nothing that should have caused such an alarming reaction. Teyla pressed her palm to the old wolf's chest and her fingertips to his neck as Carson had taught her long ago.

"Teyla?" Rodney called softly, his voice quaking with worry.

At first, the woman said nothing, reaching up to gently close the sightless eyes, at which Weylin questioned in a low rumble. "He is?"

The Athosian looked to him and shook her head solemnly. "He is dead."

Weylin looked away, standing to move away so he could grieve in peace, but Rodney would not leave him to his mourning, demanding, "Where's Sheppard?"

The Garou sighed. "Gone."

"And the Lady?" Teyla pressed.

"With Sheppard."

**XXX**

**XXXXX**

**XXX**

**Author's Notes : **Bah, it's been a long time coming, I know. I accidentally wrote a bit further ahead in the past tense to what's about to happen to Birkita and Sheppard, as well as a bit too far ahead in the future, because, like you guys said, life on earth isn't going to be all that kosher for Sheppard.

Cookies, much love, and maybe a cameo appearance as your choice of Garou, enemy, SGC member, etc, for anyone who actually gets the reference for Nodonn Cole WITHOUT using Wikipedia or Google.


	12. Circled Bells

**FEAST OF THE SAMHAIN - CIRCLED BELLS**

The three wary travelers lingered in the comforting daylight and warmth of their verdant refuge, Solaris, for a few hours. The Lanteans were exhausted from their stressful captivity and the flight from Turali Sin'ai's citadel, or so they reasoned. Both McKay and Teyla knew they should really keep moving and gate to another of the approved alpha sites or allied worlds before anyone should think to pull the last 50 dialed addresses. However, neither felt willing to just leave should Sheppard dial Solaris any time soon. Through furtive glances the Lanteans shared their concern as time stretched longer and as the first of Solaris's three suns began to sink below the horizon.

Rodney huffed to himself the entire time, turning his back to Weylin and turning his attention to the fallen Vortigern, while Teyla expertly bandaged the quiet, stern Weylin's arm. The physicist crouched before Vortigern's naked body, splayed out in the bright, afternoon light, as though with the Garou's secrets laid bare. His studious eyes roved carefully over the features, searching for some discrepancy between the species of _Homo sapiens _and whatever the Garou really were, occasionally comparing the corpse with both Teyla and Weylin and finding nothing out of the ordinary, really.

_"Viral, perhaps?" _McKay's subconscious supplied in a dull and quickly extinguished spark.

It could not be viral, at least, not entirely. The bite had been quite clearly infectious in Ronon's case, giving him the accursed ability to take that monstrous other form. However, it had been incomplete and imperfect in a way. Ronon had only changed to some blended creature part way between wolf and man, and _only _involuntarily upon the full moon. The Garou, however, took the sleek, graceful shape of a predator distilled to perfection, as well as seemingly every minute phase in between and at their own will.

_"Bacterial then?" _He ventured to idly pass the time, mulling over things like diminished efficacy before eventually sighing. _"Beckett's better at this voodoo-hoodoo crap than me."_

McKay abandoned that thought process to examine the nearly clean bullet wound on Vortigern, neat and tidy, really. The physicist prodded at the hole, finding nothing really unusual about it. After all his time in Pegasus, McKay had, sadly, grown quite accustomed to the various appearances of bullet wounds and knew, even with his limited first aid knowledge, that this wound should not have killed, at least, not so quickly. There had to be something else, something... more.

Weylin supplied it as Rodney peered over the corpse. "Mercury. Quicksilver."

"Ah, so the old myths hold true, then?" the physicist teased with a tired sneer.

The Garou thanked Teyla for her ministrations with a small nod before grumbling, "Some." He turned his dark eyes to the gate, before shaking his head. "If you know another world, or a village, hell, a cave, deep hole in the ground, _anything_, we should get going there by morning. Can't keep sitting in front of the gate to get caught with out pants down around our ankles."

Rodney snorted at the comment, but Weylin moved with a purpose, his actions composed and uninhibited by any hint of self consciousness at his own nudity, something that would have sent Rodney McKay cowering behind the tall grasses to cover himself. The Garou, however, seemed to bear decidedly different views on modesty as Weylin quietly dried grass and branches together into large clump. McKay silently rationalized that this was likely due to the Garou's nature as an animal.

"Wait, wait!" Rodney cried out when Weylin gently lifted the corpse of Vortigern, realizing what the Garou intended. "You can't just burn him!"

Weylin shot McKay a look that he had seen often in Ronon, a look that meant that the subject at hand was not one open for discussion. "I can, and I will." When Rodney went to argue further, to press that Keller needed the DNA samples to synthesize a cure for Ronon, the Garou snarled, "I will not leave him for scavengers."

Any further argue died in Rodney's throat, and the physicist stepped back to allow Weylin this moment. The Garou placed the body atop the makeshift pyre and diligently worked an ember through friction. Rodney swallowed as Weylin touched the spark to the dried grasses, igniting the pyre, while Teyla looked on impassively. The three stood in silence as another of Solaris's suns slipped beneath the horizon, staring solemnly as the flames engulfed the Garou.

The first to speak was Teyla. "It is not the custom of your people to share anecdotes and prayers during funeral rites?"

"The Garou?" Weylin inquired.

The Athosian shook her head and furrowed her brow as though it was perhaps the silliest question she had ever heard. "No. The people of Earth."

The Garou blinked as though in surprise, but he answered. "It is." Teyla cocked an eyebrow imploringly, and Weylin nodded. "His name was Vortigern Canagan of the Avoyelles. Packmaster. Leader. A _mean _chili cook. Closet Yankees fan. Father. Friend. He will be missed."

When he had finished the impromptu eulogy, the three stood in uncomfortable silence for some time, until the third sun of Solaris sank below the horizon, until the stars twinkled in the heavens. In time, the dappled splendor of Solaris's glittering aurora painted the sky in glorious, shimmering hues of pale pinks, subtle blues, flashing greens, and a creamy gold that matched the gleaming eyes of the Garou, and, still, they waited until the flames consumed the last earthly remains of Vortigern Canagan. Weyiln stared flatly at the pyre until the flames died to glowing, red coals offering too dim of light to truly see by save for the eerie, flickering reflection in. Only when nothing more than ash and stardust remained did the three weary travelers reluctantly leave Solaris in favor of another safe haven.

xxxx

Sheppard had long since discovered the very worst thing about being dematerialized in a culling beam was the inevitable rematerialization. It was not that anything actually hurt about the process. In fact, there was a rather unsettling _lack _of sensation and of memory input. No, the soldier in Sheppard loathed being dropped back into existence so very suddenly with nothing more than a memory skip, no clue of when it was or where he was. Any amount of time could have passed, and the dart could have traveled any distance. Sheppard always rematerialized with a lurching pit in his gullet as he immediately struggled to orient himself and survey for any incoming enemies.

Sheppard came back to the universe perhaps three or foot feet above the ground, instantly plummeting gracelessly to a bed of sand in a choking dust plume. He coughed and jerked his head up, swinging about to survey his surroundings, instantly aware of how painfully different they had become in what felt instantaneous time. He had been dumped by the dart into a wide, shallow pit, not unlike the combat pit of Turali Sin'ai, only this one was lined with empty, barren stands. Where he had been scooped up in the dark of the night, the dart dropped him into a blushing predawn - or perhaps evening, for that matter - twilight, offering plenty of pale glow to see by. The architecture appeared lighter and delicate compared to the prior keep, with elegant arch ways and golden filigreed lattices. Cream colored, silk awnings flapped over the stands and trembled under the faint breeze. This place even _smelt _and _tasted _different, the air hot and acrid but laden with spice compared to the damp, mellow moisture of the last planet.

Something jerked in Sheppard's hand, and he glanced to his side curiously. Birkita. He clung to her thin wrist with a death grip. For a moment, the contact surprised Sheppard and loosed his grip, allowing the albino to slip away and scramble to her own two feet. The colonel blinked before coming to the realization that he must have grabbed her at the very last second before the culling beam swept them away.

A growl met Sheppard's ears, and he whipped about, pressing Birkita behind him protectively. They were not alone in this pit, far from the initial impression. They had been deposited with the other escaped Garou, all snarling and snapping, many with fur rippling down their skin and muscles bulging in a partial change. Dozens of Turali Sin'ai's private guards lined the pit, all heavily armed and all with guns pointed quite simply at the oddly assembled party of captives.

Surprises and shocks were always interesting, Sheppard had come to realize. Of all the times crashed, he had noticed something strange in retrospect. Sometimes, right before impact, right after realizing there was a problem, the human mind had just enough time for one thought. Nothing else. Not nearly enough time to react. Even more sadly, Sheppard had come to realize that he predominantly had one, clear, concise thought during that millisecond of processing, the very same sentiment he had before the armed guards opened fire on their surrounded captives and before red electricity flared over his eyes.

_"Oh, this is gonna suck."_

xxxx

Initially, the strange trio of the Athosian, the Earthling, and the Garou gated to the seasonably damp and miserably rocky sphere of Juno. Rodney had decided upon his first trip to Juno that he hated the jagged, angry peaks that seemed to tower so bitterly and ominously over the Stargate and the ruins of a long abandoned Ancient outpost. At that moment, however, McKay could have dropped to his knees and kissed the black rock at his feet. He settled for huddling with both Teyla and Weylin under a rock outcropping for protection from the icy winds and driving rain of what passed for a _nice _day on Juno.

The Lanteans spent the better part of a half hour mulling over the possibilities of where to turn next. Weylin seemingly had nothing constructive to add and remained silent for the deliberation. McKay rationalized rather grimly yet intelligently before they selected a destination, that there was no telling where Sheppard might go since he did not join them on Solaris. Teyla agreed wholeheartedly, suggesting that the colonel might not have gone to that world purposely. John Sheppard was not a foolish man by nature. He knew Teyla and McKay would most likely take refuge on Solaris, which meant Sheppard would _not _head for there.

Eventually, they settled on Inora, punched the coordinates into the DHD, and jumped through. Inora was a fair planet covered in dense, yet mild taiga, lower on the list of alpha sites in use, purely because Inora boasted a relatively mild mannered native population in what seemed their equivalency of the Victorian era. Teyla had initially raised an eyebrow to the confining corsets and billowing bustles of the ladies upon their first visit but held her tongue when Rodney matter-of-factly pointed out Earth women had gone through a similar vein of fashion and, were it not for the Wraith, her people _might _have as well. The people were calm and prudent, well known among the galaxy for their gourmet cuisine, not for their skills in battle. However, among the alpha sites, the people of Inora were the most advanced in both technology and medicine, and, if either Birkita or Sheppard were injured, the colonel would head there.

Once on the other side of the gate, both Rodney and Teyla realized a small glitch. They both surveyed the still nude Garou and suggested that, perhaps, it might be best if Weylin shifted to his ebony pelt and pretended to be a faithful hunting hound. Weylin rolled his eyes but conceded, waltzing into the capital city of Haltrice on four legs instead of two were the usual welcoming committee of the Inorans came to greet Teyla and Rodney, offering the Lanteans food and shelter. There, in the public half-way house, they waited for either Sheppard or Atlantis, whoever came first, as minutes ticked by the hours until even Weylin slumped on the ground, placing his sculpted muzzle upon his paws and staring forlornly at the door to their guest quarters.

As night settled on Inora and Teyla stared out their windows to the lonely road leading back to the Stargate, even she began to worry.

xxxx

Teyla awoke in the night to a fretful whining and scritching sound. She rose slowly from her narrow bed beside the window and peered into the darkness of their room, locating the source almost instantly. Weylin. He sat on his haunches, pressed up against the door and scratching idly at the seam with one of his massive paws.

Teyla smiled softly and made a soft, shushing sound that distracted the Garou. "It's alright."

Weylin turned his head to her, with those wide, flashing golden eyes. For a moment, Teyla nearly mistook the Garou in the dark for a hunting hound her father had kept for years before it passed on. Weylin swung his great head back to the door, sniffing intently.

Teyla tutted the wolf and patted the side of the bed imploringly, calling, "Shh.... come here, Weylin."

Slowly, the wolf padded towards her, placing his muzzle on the edge of the bed just below her hand, stooping to do so. The Garou seemed impossibly larger by nightfall, as though the darkness were his element. His wide, yellow eyes stared up at her balefully. Teyla hesitated momentarily before placing her hand upon his head and stroking the surprisingly soft and downy fur ruffing about his meaty neck. The simple, maternal gesture stifled the high pitched, canine whines of the Garou in time, and Teyla rolled over, her face meeting the Garou's.

Teyla yawned before snuggling under the blankets, staring into those wild eyes and whispering, "Your Birkita will be safe. Colonel Sheppard will take care of her, I promise you."

Yet, despite the assurance, Weylin slunk back to his place before the door and dropped to the ground, staring at the wood.

xxxx

Sheppard awoke slowly, his body stiff and recalcitrant. His muscles ached with the all too familiar and annoying sensation that followed taking a direct stun. Yet he was alive and mercifully whole, and that was _far _more than he had expected when the guards opened fire.

_"How did the old joke go? Something about waking up dead?" _the colonel grimly mused with a tired smirk.

Something hummed in the dark, startling the man. Sheppard took a moment to survey the situation once more, finding that he had been thrown in a dark cell. Sin'ai's guard had shackled and chained the man with heavy weighted links that wrapped about him. They bound his hands together behind his back by the wrists, locking that to a chain circling his stomach by a narrow shank. Another, longer length joined that to the shackles about his ankles. The colonel eased himself up, straining against the weight of the metal that threatened to drag him down once more. The heft of the bonds seemed intended less for a man of his stature and more for someone like Ronon or the Garou.

The humming ceased at the hiss of the metal links rasping against the stone floor and one another; Birkita's voice called in a faint whisper, "Sheppard?"

"Yeah." Sheppard twisted against the shackles, inquiring simply, "You alright?"

"Yeah." She flatly replied and paused in the dark. "You?"

"Yeah."

Soft breaths met Sheppard's ears, and he froze. "We're not alone."

"No, we're not," Birkita admitted.

A part of Sheppard flinched inwardly. Of course Birkita would know. She was, after all, Garou and, in that sense, part canine. He had already seen for himself how much sharper the senses were for the Garou. Sight. Sound. Scent. It was likely, very likely, that the Garou had a heightened night vision, perhaps as keen as their actual canine cousins.

"Weylin and my friends?"

Birkita responded simply, "No."

"The other escapees?" Sheppard ventured, rising blindly in the dark to stagger about and attempt to survey the cell.

"Yup."

Sheppard gave a terse nod, wondering if the albino could actually see it. "Figures."

There was a long, tense moment when no one in the cell dared utter a word. Sheppard struggled to bear the weight of the chains hobbled as he was. He found a solid, steel wall, and elected to slump beside it instead of taking his chances to rouse the possibly sleeping dogs. Best to let them lie.

"You could always... change. Y'know? Break out of here and run for the Stargate. Great big ring thing. Takes you to other worlds. Can't miss it, really," Sheppard pointed out brusquely.

"There is no ring on this world." When Birkita whispered to him next, it was so low, that Sheppard initially thought it was his imagination. "Why did you do it?"

"Hrm?"

She sighed heavily. "Jump for me." Chains rattled beside him in the shadows. "You could have gotten away with the others. You could have escaped." She chortled tightly, an uncomfortable, nervous sound. "Sin'ai would have scooped me up, and you could have just slipped off into the night."

"Why did _you _do it? Jump out like that?" Sheppard countered smartly. "You could have run away just as easily and come back for me."

Birkita answered slowly, ominously, "I'm too... valuable for Sin'ai to kill."

"Modest much?" When the Garou did not answer, Sheppard snapped, "And why is that?" When Birkita did not answer right away, Sheppard fumed, "You promised me answers."

"I did."

But then was not the time as the guards came for the condemned and frogmarched them from their cell through a long tunnel and back to the pit. Drums beat wildly about the arena as a sea of cheers rose up from the crowds. The condemned were shoved out under a bright, searing and hot afternoon sun into a dusty arena pit not dissimilar from the first Sheppard had faced. The crowds went wild at the sight of these criminals whose litany of crimes had already been listed in a droning voice that held no interest to Sheppard as the colonel spent his last moments in the dark listening to Birkita's steady breathing beside him. When they were pushed out, Sheppard bucked and twisted unsuccessfully against the guard's hold, while Birkita strode out, her head held regally high like the born royalty through and through. Sheppard almost imagined that was how Charlotte Corday or Marie Antoinette must have looked on their own way to the guillotine.

At the center of the ring, the guards knocked the prisoners one at a time to the ground in a swirl of red dust before Turali Sin'ai's private box. The nobleman sat in a plush, velveteen chair beneath white, silk shades surrounded by his servants. He stared vacantly down his noise in a seething disdain at the Garou forced to their knees before him. Sin'ai hardly seemed to care or even notice their presence, sipping at a silver chalice. Finally, Sin'ai raised his glass to the condemned.

_"We who are about to die salute you," _Sheppard grimly mused as the guard roughly shoved the colonel to his knees in the choking, acrid dust beside Birkita.

Birkita blinked beside him, her eyes unfocused and glazed over. She craned her head from side to side, occasionally jerking at chaotic jumble of sounds about them from the drums to the cheers. The alabaster Garou breathed heavily and erratically, sucking the air through her nostrils to study the scents about her intently. It took Sheppard a moment to understand. The radiant, scorching sun of this unforgiving desert world stole the albino's sight away. Sheppard shifted his weight and inched his leg closer to hers, gracing her with his touch.

Birkita swiveled her head to the side; she licked her lips for a moment and hummed nervously. The notes were uneven and stuttered by her frequent pauses to cock her head to a distant and unnerving noise. Sheppard furrowed his brow, focusing on the notes and eventually placing them. _Bad Moon Rising. _He could have chuckled at the thought of the Garou humming that song if it didn't sound so ominous coming from Birkita's lips granted their situation. He didn't trust his own voice not to betray the fear buried in the hearts of all soldiers, and, so, Sheppard pressed slightly against her leg and responded in kind, humming a few bars of the song back to her and wondering what exactly the Creedence Clearwater Revival would think of an albino werewolf broadcasting their song on a planet galaxies away from Earth. Birkita stilled slightly and stopped with the tune, perhaps comforted by the knowledge of Sheppard's presence beside her in the blinding sunlight by the fact that the only other Earthling she knew in this galaxy and her would-be savior lived on, even if it were only for a short time.

The drums silenced along with the crowds, leaving nothing but an unnatural and eerie quiet roaring with a rush of blood in Sheppard's ears. The guards stepped slightly back and away, allowing the rogue Wraith to approach. His curved sword remained sheathed at his side, in favor of two smaller, gleaming silver scimitar like blades. The Wraith sneered at the Garou cohort, slinking through the pit towards them, brandishing the shining metal blades menacingly in the afternoon light. The Wraith circled the first Garou, moving on nimble feet that seemed intended for this awful, macabre dance.

Sheppard did not watch when the blades descended on the first Garou on the other end of the line. Instead, he looked down to the almost orange-red sand of the pit, the same sand Sheppard had often imagined lined the planet of Mars. He focused on the grit of it beneath his knees, baked warm by the relentless sun. Sheppard tried not to flinch at the meaty sounds of the blades cleaving into living flesh, at the muffled snap of bones shattered beneath thick muscle and flesh, at the thump of something heavy hitting the sand and the subsequent, louder thud of a body. He closed his eyes tight and licked his dry, salty lips, blocking out the cheers of the ground and the tumultuous drum beats raising in praise of the efficient kill.

His mind swam when the drums ceased abruptly once more and the brutal dance continued, this time to the next Garou. Sheppard had been a prisoner of war before. He had endured this same position once before, only with a rifle muzzle butted up at the base of his neck. Sheppard had waited for death like this many times before, most of that since arriving in Pegasus. That did not make it any easier.

The second Garou had been stockier than the first, with a thicker, muscular neck that did not sever with one cleave of the Wraith's mighty hand. Instead, it took two powerful, driving blows to hack the Garou apart. In between the two strikes, the Garou issued forth a strange part-howl and part-growl. And, then, the head toppled to the ground with a thump, rolling slightly on the sand.

The third Garou fell as neatly as the first, as did the next, and the next. Down the line the Wraith steadily approached, until he dispatched the Garou beside Birkita, sending a severed head rolling languidly away, its jaws still snapping in death. Even Sheppard felt the warm splash of arterial spray on his cheek, jerking in surprise from the sensation. He glance to his side to the albino, surprised by how young and innocent she appeared in this harsh light beside a decapitated body convulsing as the nerve endings flared one last time. She held her head high, despite the grizzly splatter of crimson across the side of her face, staring up into the blinding light. Sheppard had faced death before but never at as young of an age as she.

How old was Birkita? Seventeen? Eighteen? Sheppard thought back to when he was her age. He had been in high school at the time, thrilling at late night joyrides with some cheerleader clutching his arm and shrieking in both delight and terror at his haphazard driving. At eighteen, Sheppard's greatest fear had been getting busted by his dad for drinking, while his greatest ambition had been nothing more than to fly. At her age, Sheppard had thought about nothing more than graduation and maybe getting laid by some senior hottie. At her age, she had thrown herself into the culling beam of a Wraith dart in hopes that maybe, just maybe, she could distract her enemies and save her friends. The colonel cowed in shame.

The first time Sheppard faced his own mortality at the hands of another man, he'd been thirty three, more than ten years her elder. It was during the Gulf War. His Blackhawk had been shot down in a surprise ambush. In the ensuing chaos of the crash, the entire crew had been surrounded and overtaken by Iraqi soldiers. The Americans had been taken POW and held for days before being hauled out into the burning sun and forced to their knees. Even then, Sheppard had nearly pissed himself waiting in the dust for the stranger behind him to pull the trigger. Yet, Birkita was a child, a child who hoped nothing more than to save her people, a child facing death with grace and dignity beyond her years, even as the Wraith circled her, his shadow falling across her pale form.

The drums stopped, and Sheppard stiffened. The blades of the Wraith dropped, slowly and fluidly, but, this time, Sheppard could _not _look away. Instead, he locked his eyes upon her, unable to tear himself away as time came to a standstill about them. He pressed his leg against hers, hoping the albino understood that she wouldn't die alone. Birkita's pale lips curled into a faint ghost of a smile, perhaps in understanding, and she allowed her frozen eyes to slip closed in wait for those blades to hack through her. She held her breath as a single tear rolled down her cheek and as her neck stretched as though to present a cleaner target. Even when the Garou stopped looking, Sheppard could not, even not when the gleaming silver flashed beside Birkita's head nor when an abrupt flurry of motion erupted in Turali Sin'ai's private seating.

"STOP!"

At Turali Sin'ai's bellow, the Wraith froze on a dime, the blade less than a hair's breadth from the lopping the albino's head clean from her scrawny neck. The Garou let out a shuddered breath, as though relieved to know she had been so narrowly spared by one, simple outburst. And, yet, Birkita trembled stilled, drawing gulped, almost painful breaths. The albino knew who had called for the Wraith to stay his hand, much as anyone would.

Sin'ai stood curtly, announcing, "Those two are mine."

xxxx

A full day passed uneventfully on Inora before Lorne's team came through the gate and walked down into the town of Haltrice. Weylin had paced the entire day, clearly agitated and on edge. When Lorne and his team arrived at the inn, the Garou circled them cautiously, pointedly taking a moment to study the scents and appearances of each of the stiff soldiers. He went to Teyla's side when she called to him and sulked as she inquired if Sheppard and a pale girl had been found on any of the worlds of their allies.

When Lorne answered simply 'no,' Weylin's grieving howl spoke more than words ever could for the Athosian.

xxxx

Turali Sin'ai's private quarters on this unforgiving desert world were somehow more lavish and ornate than they had been on the last world. Everything that could be cast in gold and studded with jewels was. Silk draperies hung everywhere, depicting blooms that looked almost pornographic in nature, like the Pegasus equivalent of Georgia O'Keefe. Incense burned with lavish coils of perfumed smoke that tickled the nostrils.

And, in the middle of it all, shackled together, knelt the Lady Birkita Canagan and Colonel John Sheppard. Birkita stared ahead, no longer sightless, but no longer caring, either. Sheppard had tried to open his mouth on more than one occasion to speak to her, to question the Garou as to what was about to become of them, but the rogue Wraith cuffed him roughly on the head each and every time. Sheppard eventually settled for steeling himself against whatever torture the nobleman had in mind.

Finally, Turali Sin'ai graced them with his presence, circling them like a vulture on the wing before drawing near to Birkita and sneering, "Well, you've caused quite a stir, my Lady."

"Well behaved women rarely make history," she snapped back, garnering a sudden backhand; Birkita took it defiantly, hardly flinching from the blow.

"Are you ready to come back to my side willingly, or have you not had enough bloodshed, my dove?" Sin'ai purred, grabbing the girl by her chin, digging his fingers into her cheek, and dragging her up to meet his steely gaze. "If not, there are plenty more dogs to put down...."

Sin'ai loosed his hold and glanced to Sheppard with a knowing look. Suddenly, it hit the colonel. Sheppard had not been spared for any particular reason aside from the seeming shine Birkita had taken to him. After all, she had thrown herself in the culling beam for him. Sheppard was bait, a tasty morsel offered in exchange for Birkita's compliance. Yet the Garou merely glowered at Sin'ai.

"Am I really so difficult to be with?" Sin'ai crooned, placing a hand on her shoulder and stroking her silver hair tenderly with the other.

Birkita froze, but Sheppard could spy the minute muscle tension to her, the fine tremors of a tightly reined rage. Her lip twitched. Her eyes narrowed, growing shadowed and dark somehow granted their almost pastel color. She was a wolf, after all, concealed beneath the pale, innocent and vulnerable veneer of a human girl, a wild animal cornered, chained and threatened. It did not go unnoticed in Sin'ai, who grinned smugly in content, savoring every moment of her torment.

"Am I truly so awful that you cannot simply fall easily in stride at my side?" he inquired of Birkita, almost formally and courtly, truly playing the part of a lord to his lady. Sin'ai sneered in disgust. "Really, my Lady, you would rather throw in your lot with such... vermin that be mine?"

She went rigid at his possessiveness, her muscles clenching visibly beneath her marble white skin as she ground out, "I am no man's."

Sin'ai snorted, "You had a different story before _him_." The nobleman slapped Sheppard, but the colonel had seen far worse blows and hardly flinched. "A whelp, Birkita, nothing more. Just a pathetic little worm." He hissed in Sheppard's face. "Really, Birkita, you would think you would at least show better taste."

Birkita said nothing but looked down, sagging slightly; the albino had no comeback to that.

"We have an event slated in three days time. You can have that time to... think it over with your new pet." Sin'ai waved to the Wraith dismissively. "Take them down to the training yard. Let them have a good long sit about it."

Sheppard rolled his eyes, wondering who Sin'ai thought he was kidding when it came to threats, until the Wraith and the nobleman's private guards hauled the captives out of the quarters, through the halls, and out into a courtyard lined by tall stone walls. Twilight spanned overhead, but bright lanterns illuminated the courtyard. Tall, iron cages stood this way and that, along with small, fenced rings. He twisted in their grip at the sight, but the shackles proved too heavy once more. The pair were dragged out to a far corner where a guard wrapped a metal cuff about Sheppard's ankle, locking it securely to a length of chain. They loosed the chains wrapping about the rest of the colonel and backing away quickly before the captive could lunge to the end of his tether. The guards laughed and turned away, leaving the prisoners with nothing but a shallow bucket of water set between them.

Sheppard threw himself at the massive ring bolt in the ground that his chain ran through. He tested both the chain and the bolt, pulling against them in vain. Sheppard finally gave up after a moment's frenzied struggles. The links were thick and hefty, and the chain looped through the bolt to where it anchored at some kind of a locking pulley system that vaguely reminded him of a retractable leash.

A hiss through clenched teeth from Birkita drew his attention back to her. Sheppard whipped about to spy the Garou crouched on the ground, sitting up but curled protectively over her ankle, her back to him. The colonel furrowed his brow, but he could not spy what was wrong.

"Birkita..." he breathed.

The Garou turned painfully slowly and began to crawl towards him, her ankle dragging behind her in the red sand of this world, now tinged a deeper crimson. Sheppard gasped, staring beyond her at the thing that held her. It was something like a bear trap, clamping down upon her, her leg seeping red blood where the toothed trap bit into flesh. When she reached the end of her tether, Birkita slumped to the ground.

"I'm fine."

Sheppard blinked. "Like hell."

A rasped inhalation drew both captive's attentions to their side. They were not alone in this prison of theirs. There was a body, perhaps ten or twelve feet away. It was a bag of bones, really, meagerly covered by filthy, rotted scraps of fabric. Birkita scurried along the length of her chain until the trap snagged deeper into her, as Sheppard crept behind her. Their tethers held them just a few few short of the body. Birkita reached out with a pale hand into the night and inhaled deeply through her nostrils.

"Korshad?" she called softly.

The figure stirred slightly, with a low moan before answering in a rough voice, "Lady...."

"Shh.... it's alright," the albino crooned sweetly, pulling against the bear trap despite the way it ripped at her ankle. "Korshad?"

The figure rolled over and even Sheppard drew a sharp breath of surprise. He held his breath against the stench of blood, piss, and fear. The body had been beaten to a pulp, likely by the Wraith. What had once been elegant and sculpted features of a roman face swelled unevenly into bleeding, seeping welts. His fingers were twisted and gnarled, bent in ways no fingers should be and clearly broken in several spots. Each breath seemed a labored hassle. The stranger's skin flushed a burnt red, blistered in several places and downright crispy in others. His lips quivered slightly, as though trying to form words, and, when that failed, his adam's apple bobbed as his throat struggled to work.

"Don't talk, Korshad." Birkita looked down for a moment before returning her gaze to him. "It's alright. I know."

The fallen man nodded limply and allowed his eyes to droop shut.

Sheppard reached out and timidly touched Birkita on the shoulder, gesturing with a raised eyebrow his intrigue; he whispered, "What happened to him?"

"Korshad. He tried to escape months ago," she explained, her voice distant once more and detached like a royal. "Sin'ai staked him out here to be a message to the rest of us."

Sheppard sighed, shaking his head. Now _they _were the message, and, if his brief moments in the burning, afternoon sun had been any indication, tomorrow would be brutal.

**XXX**

**XXXXX**

**XXX**

**Author's Notes : **Sorry it's been so long. I've been studying for bio and working on Water Watch. Sad news, though, as the chapters keep going on and the story in both the past and the future get more in depth, you may see more single timeframe chapters. Just FYI. I promise, we'll get back to Capt. Nodonn Cole and the present day in the next chapter.


	13. Under the Blood Moon

**FEAST OF THE SAMHAIN - UNDER THE BLOOD MOON**

Captain Nodonn Cole submitted reluctantly but without complaint to Dr. Lam's pokes, prods, and various tests to her rather thorough examination while the still shaking and clearly startled Lt. Norris went to summon Gen. Landry, Gen. O'Neill, and the Garou contingent. He sat on the examination table willingly, but Cole shifted and fidgeted with nervous energy. The paper sheet beneath him crinkled and crunched with every slight motion. The sound grated on both Cole's and Lam's nerves, but neither sad a thing, both their faces dour and set as the doctor tended to the vicious and still bleeding bite wound on the captain's forearm.

She offered a fragile, thin smile and a small, fleeting comfort. "It's not too deep. Won't even need stitches."

Nodonn nodded solemnly, wincing only when Lam drew what seemed a copious amount of blood for tests. He eyed the crimson filled vials on the white tray warily. Lam shivered at his staring, hazel eyes and the naked concern upon his face. She reached over and stuffed the vials in her white, lab coat pocket. Nodonn averted his gaze, finding now an apparently quite intriguing puckered dimple to the concrete wall to stare at.

Lam placed a tender had upon his. "Captain, everything's going to be alright. No matter what happens, no matter what the test results, I promise, everything will be just fine."

But Nodonn Cole knew it was an empty promise, the sort of vapid comforts given lightly to ease patients into a false sense of security with their physician. He withdrew from the cool warmth of her touch and forced his hands down. No, Dr. Lam cannot so simply assuage the paranoid fears tumbling through his mind, cycling over and over again.

Fortunately for Cole, the doctor did not have a chance to give any more of her prescribed, meaningless bedside manner, as the Garou came bursting through the door, both Weylin and the Lady Birkita looking thoroughly incensed and primed for a fight. Dr. Lam scrambled to her feet, about to spout a quick apology but stifled it upon seeing the pure, unfettered rage in those eyes. The eyes of both the pureblooded Garou twitched and quivered between something perfectly human and something primal, canine. Their muscles swelled and contracted inward, as though, in their haste, their anger, and the heat of the moment, both struggled to contain the urge to shift, to protectively circle Sheppard in wolf pelts. The doctor held her breath as the two Garou swept through the infirmary to Sheppard's bed and only diffused upon seeing the still, tranquil form of the sedated man. The two exchanged a glance and nodded, breathing slightly easier now as the untamed wild fled from their eyes.

However, the relief was short lived when Ronon Dex, O'Neill, and Landry came bolting through the infirmary door, the Satedan growling darkly, "What happened?"

"Lt. Norris was changing Sheppard's IV when he woke and jumped for her," Lam replied matter-of-factly. She gestured to Cole, who gave a tiny wave. "Capt. Cole restrained Sheppard and managed to sedate him before he could do any harm to himself or anyone else."

"Wasn't someone supposed to be watching him?" Ronon accused, his eyes narrowing in an unmistakably feral expression.

"Yes," Lam begins to argue. "But-"

"Is he not a patient in need of constant supervision?" Birkita cut in with a low, venomous hiss.

Lam flushed. "Yes, but rounds had just-"

"It was my fault," Cole blurted out, interrupting her as he stood up and flexed his muscles. "Lt. Norris was doing her job. I should have been keeping a better eye on him. I let the situation escalate beyond control."

Birkita's frozen gaze met the captain, surveying him steadily. She seemed to drink him in, his features and the contrite expression plastered upon them. The captain looked down, his cheeks flushing with shame. Birkita closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, tasting the air and caustic antiseptic of the infirmary. The gesture unsettled Lam, and the doctor stood, rubbing her suddenly chilled arms.

Ronon scowled deeply, the lines setting deeply in his face before he let out a heavy sigh and shook his head. "No. I shouldn't have been at the negotiations." The guilt in the Satedan seemed a palpable, live thing coiling behind his eyes. "I should have been here."

Birkita placed a pale palm upon the Satedan's shoulder, her words drifting across the air with a sense of royal dignity. "It's not your fault. He is... unpredictable." Birkita fixed her piercing sight on the captain. "It's Cole, isn't it?"

"Yes, ma'am," the captain replied, going ramrod straight and almost at attention.

She drew another deep inhalation, and her eyes grew cold and determined as she spoke with the unquestioning authority and pure grace of a true queen. "I'd like a private audience with you later."

"I'm afraid that's not going to be possible," Dr. Lam interjected sharply, bristling before noting the collective glares of the Garou and realized exactly _what _she barked at and deflating ever so slightly. "Captain Cole needs to be quarantined and monitored just in case Sheppard is.... infectious."

"I demand a private audience," Birkita growled deeply, her voice rumbling in the back of her throat in warning.

The room erupted in argument as both human and Garou snarled and snapped at one another, Nodonn Cole included. Only General O'Neill stood to the side, allowing the various furies to vent upon one another. He had been sitting in those negotiations now for some time and noted just how futile they seemed. The Garou were as stubborn and proud as the worst of Americans. They stood their ground on their varied demands from the most basic of medical attention to safe refuge and weaponry, dug their heels in at every turn. This had been building up, and O'Neill new better than to get in the middle of the fray. He folded his arms across his chest and smirked, as though watching children have a petty fight and sulk.

Eventually, when the shouted arguments began to taper off, O'Neill bellowed over the noise, "People, people, listen up." The arguments stifled for but a moment as all eyes turned to the general and as he checked his watch. "The way I see it, we've got another six days to the first day of full moon. If anything's going to happen to Cole - which it won't - it's not going to happen tonight. Cole?"

"Yes, sir?" Cole snapped to full attention.

"Would you submit to voluntary confinement to the base until _after _the full moon has passed?" O'Neill suggested.

The captain nodded. "Of course, sir."

"Then, it's settled." He turned to the doctor. "Lam, you can poke and prod all you want." He looked to the albino Garou, hanging her head like a wolf on the prowl. "You can have your little tete a tete so long as Cole agrees." The captain's head bobbed quickly, allowing O'Neill a quick sigh of relief, "And we can all live happily ever after, agreed?"

The female Garou considered for a moment before turning her attention to Cole. "Tomorrow morning. Early."

"Yes, ma'am." He glanced to the generals. "I am to assume I'm relieved of all duties?"

General Landry shrugged. "That would be up to Dr. Lam."

The woman briskly nodded. "Of course you're relieved of all duties."

Cole glanced to his watch and, then, to the Lady. "At 0600?"

"Perfect." Lady Birkita dipped her head slightly, formally. O'Neill beamed at himself and at the workability of his solution, but Birkita merely looked to the Satedan and her dark Garou brother with a stiff nod, snarling. "Take shifts."

And, with that, Lady Birkita turned on her heel and strode from the room. Yet the tension, _her _tension remained. Ronon stared as the Lady left, making a mental note to question her about it later before slipping into a chair and settling into what looked to be a long vigil.

xxxx

Captain Nodonn Cole, while he had agreed to seeing the Lady Birkita, did not look forward to the meeting. Lam reluctantly freed him from the confines of the infirmary, and he quieting slunk out, edging silently around Ronon's hulking form as the Satedan kept vigil over Sheppard. Captain Nodonn Cole slunk down the halls, keeping his head down and his eyes boring into the cold concrete of the floors, his thoughts cascading in rapid fire succession over his mind. He occasionally rubbed the gauze about his arm, mindful of the wound below and savoring the clarity that the dull pangs allowed.

Cole went directly to his quarters without delay and shut the door quite firmly behind him, making sure to lock it securely. Dr. Lam had restricted him to the base and pulled him from active duty, but that did not mean that General Landry, O'Neill, or any of the other officers or his friends might stop by. No. Cole could not face them. Not now. Not yet.

Still, sliding the dead bolt on the door offered only a small hint of comfort, and Cole found himself pulling his desk before the doorframe, sated by the effort it took to position the hefty item in from of the door. He tested the desk and found it made a satisfactory barricade. Only then, when he knew the room was secure, did Captain Nodonn Cole relax slightly, his muscles going ever so slack. He sunk to his haunches, letting his back press against the desk and its veneered MDF that could only be charitably be described as "wood." Only then did the military slip from the captain and leave him as Nodonn Cole, naked and quite abruptly terrified of his rather precarious position in this world.

He rose after a few hours in silence to fetch a thermos from his tiny refrigerator and pour himself a glass of a darkly steeped tea that smelt roughly like decay. Nodonn Cole wrinkled his nose at the drink but swallowed. The tea, though cold, scalded the entire way down his throat, burning a searing trail from his tongue to his gut. However, Cole forced down every last drop of the tea, his muscles quivering from the effort. The tea is something distinctly reminiscent of pond scum with the consistency of curdled milk, leaving a vile, oily after taste coating Nodonn's tongue and throat. His stomach threatened to revolt, and he swallowed convulsively, willing it to calm and still. He clenched his fists on the desk, holding tight until the nausea passed.

Nodonn Cole downright loathed that repulsive tea, but he drank it down anyway and even made a mental to note to call ahead and have his Auntie Babineaux brew another batch for him to pick up the next time he went down to Shreveport.

xxxx

Ronon could have kicked himself. He should have been there, at Sheppard's side at all times. But he had allowed himself to slip into complacency, the true enemy of any soldier or hunter. He allowed himself to become comfortable enough with the status quo to forget the inherent dangers lurking all about him and within Sheppard as well. It was that complacency, that misplaced trust, that had led Ronon from Sheppard's bedside to the negotiations with the Garou to ensure that the Lady Birkita needed no help in stalling any sort of treaty signing.

The Satedan sat in his place by Sheppard's side once more and resolved to remain there for as long as it took now. He knew he would not willfully leave that spot now until Weylin came to take over. Ronon even stayed in his chair when Weylin arrived in the middle of the night to relieve him of his watch. Instead of retreating to the guest quarters offered him, the Satedan merely hunkered down in the chair, folded his arms across his chest, and settled in to sleep. One grave mistake had already been committed. He would not make that mistake once more.

Weylin shrugged.

xxxx

Jack O'Neill stole into the infirmary shortly after 0500, but he did not make his presence known. Instead, he stood back and watched. There was a stillness to the infirmary in the early hours of the morning, something bordering on a peaceful quiet and a deathly silence. The lights were kept dim in the infirmary until perhaps 1000. Most of the patients were still asleep. The nurses held their tongues at this early of an hour, scurried about in silence and speaking only in either gentle murmurs or subtle gesture.

Across the infirmary, Sheppard lie in restraint still, with both Weylin Canagan-Filtiarn and Ronon Dex holding their vigil. The Garou and the Satedan sat with their back to O'Neill, hunched down in the hard, injection molded plastic chairs, perhaps asleep or perhaps awake and staring in silence. The general smiled half-heartedly, musing on all the times he had spent on those chairs and recalling from personal experience just how miserably uncomfortable those chairs were. He had often teased with just about any of the infirmary staff who would listen about how they had intentionally installed such tortuous furniture to keep visitors from getting too comfortable and outstaying their welcome. Yet Weylin and Ronon seemed utterly at home and relaxed in those chairs.

O'Neill took a few, hesitant steps forward and glanced to the Satedan and the Garou. Their eyes were shut, their faces slack with sleep. O'Neill said nothing; they needed the rest after the long night before.

Instead, O'Neill turned his attention to Sheppard and found a pair of languid, febrile hazel eyes staring back. Though half-masted, those eyes found O'Neill and stared almost fearfully, wild and vacant. O'Neill thought he saw a quiver through Sheppard's muscles, a shiver of fright.

The general felt his own heart fall at the sight of it. O'Neill had not initially been slated to greet the Garou contingent, but the general pulled a few strings here and there to be a part of the greeting party. O'Neill had to be there, if only to attempt to assuage the guilt he wallowed in upon hearing of Sheppard's return. After all, it had been O'Neill who got the younger man into this whole mess, who convinced him to pack up and ship out for Atlantis. If it hadn't been for O'Neill, Sheppard would likely still be wasting away his military career and rather safely freezing his butt off in Antarctica. Instead, Sheppard had spent six years in captivity, wasting away to this hollow shell of a man, broken and beaten.

"We'll get you through this," O'Neill breathed. "I promise."

xxxx

Nodonn Cole - not _Captain _Nodonn Cole - woke early and slowly for his audience with the Garou, Lady Birkita Canagan, sparing not a single detail. He unwrapped his bandaged arm and showered, being quite sure to scrub down every inch of his body, right down to behind his ears and between each of his toes. He shaved expertly and brushed his chocolate brown hair until it shone. The bite wound appeared raw but closed, and, so, Cole did not bother redressing it. He dressed in black slacks and a matching shirt, but Cole did give pause long enough to give his boots a quick buff. Cole surveyed himself in the mirror and found himself quite presentable, giving a small nod of self approval.

Cole strode proudly down the long halls, keeping his head held high despite the suspicious, wary glances shot in his general direction and the few civilians that seemed to stray further to the opposite side of the hall from him. They radiated their fear, even those that tried to mask it behind forced smiles. Word travelled fast around the SGC, it seemed, and everyone had heard about the Sheppard's potentially infectious bite. Cole sniffed to himself. Let them talk. Let them panic and fear him. He hadn't changed into some hideous, snarling beast hungry for human blood, and it had most certainly _not _been Sheppard's fault, no matter what the rumors might have said. Cole ignored every wayward look and made no effort to dignify the curious with a statement or reaction of any sort.

General O'Neill's voice stopped his progress quite abruptly in the hall. "Captain Cole."

He flinched but spun on his heel and saluted his superior officer obediently, clenching his teeth as he did. "General O'Neill."

"At ease," O'Neill breathed, his tone easy and light. The older man stood for a moment in an awkward and uncomfortable silence, rocking from the balls of his feet to his heels before he finally broke the ice and asked honestly, "So, are you okay with all of this? Really?"

Nodonn shrugged elaborately. "I guess. It's already a done deal, anyway. He bit me, and it's not like I can go back and change that. And I'd rather it have been me than Norris."

"So, you're not in the _least _bit bothered by any of this?" O'Neill questioned.

"Why would I be?" When the general blinked in surprise, Cole stuffed his hands in his pockets and gave another shrug. "Out there -" he jerks his head upwards, to the ceiling and, though it, the sky "- there's loads of weird shit just waiting. Goa'uld. Wraith. Ori. Who knows? Maybe there's even a real Cthulhu or those alien face hugger thingies just waiting to chomp on us." He looked down to the curved teeth marks marring his flesh. "I kind of like to think turning into a wolf is getting off light compared to having something come bursting out of my chest. Besides, Dr. Lam says there's only a _chance _that Sheppard is infected and only a chance even then that he could infect someone else."

"No hard feelings about Sheppard?"

Nodonn shook his head, staring rather intently at his shoes. "Why should there be hard feelings? It's not like he's in the right mind for me to be pissed at him." Images of the skeleton of a man flickered in Nodonn's mind, and he sighed. "It'd feel... I don't know, wrong to hate him after everything he's been through."

"You're taking this in _surprising _stride," the general commented, truly intrigued by the calm composure displayed by Cole.

"My Auntie Babineaux told me things could be worse." His eyes grew misty and distant, picturing the stout woman. "She's survived the Depression with seven kids of her own, Katrina with fifteen grandkids, and me." O'Neill cocked an eyebrow, and Cole shrugged. "My parents died in a fire when I was a kid. Auntie Babineaux pretty much raised me."

"Sounds like a tough woman."

Cole smiled. "As nails."

O'Neill gave a slow nod before finally heaving the question that had been lingering on his tongue. "What will you do if you are... you know... infected?"

Nodonn let out a heavy breathe and shrugged in earnest. "I guess I'll just have to worry about that when I hit it." The captain gave a sudden shiver. "I can't imagine the SGC and the IOA would be tickled pink at the thought of letting a werewolf run free on the full moon out there."

O'Neill nodded contemplatively before asking, " So, any idea what this Lady Birkita wants from you?"

Cole heaved his shoulders in a deep shrug, lifting his forearm and guessing, "I'm thinking she wants to dish about this." He shook his head. "Guess she thinks I'm due to be family or something now."

"Probably." The general said nothing for a moment before asking, "You worried?"

"Nope. What's the sense in getting my panties in a bunch if I don't know what she wants?" Nodonn Cole said that calmly and coolly while his muscles tightened and his stomach roiled with the blatant lie. He checked his watch. "If you'll excuse me, sir, it's not polite to keep a lady waiting."

"Of course."

O'Neill stepped to the side to allow Cole to pass, but, then, it struck the captain, the sense of desperation and clinging to the general. "Begging your pardon, sir?"

"Yes?"

Nodonn furrowed his brow. "If you don't mind my asking, what are you doing up so early?"

O'Neill's features softened in what might have been regret or shame, suddenly appearing far older than Cole knew the general to be, even from the stories he had heard in passing of the illustrious SG-1. "Just visiting a sick friend."

Nodonn said nothing more and went on his way without any further delay. At last, he came to the door of the guest quarters that Lady Birkita and her man-at-arms occupied for the duration of their Earth visit. He held his breath for a moment, staring at the door and hoping that it might hold some answer. He listened and caught the sound of a television in the background, just beyond the door. For a long moment, Cole thought his nerve might break. He raised his hand and knocked swiftly, before he could have a chance to retreat. The door creaked open, and Birkita's alabaster face peered through a crack; she stepped back and gestured with a sweep of his arm for him to enter a room lit only by a television blasting an obnoxiously loud cartoon show.

"Come in," the Garou crooned sweetly.

Cole felt the hair raise on the back of his neck at the softness to her voice, the almost tenderness there. "Of course."

He stood stock stiff as Birkita eased the door shut behind him, listening to the perfect stillness and silence of her motions beneath the blaring of the television. She circled him for a moment, like a vulture on the wing. After a tense moment, Birkita stood before him and folded her arms across her chest. Her pale eyes surveyed him, and, for a moment, Cole regretted not having put on his dress blues for her. He was, after all, in the presence of royalty. Cole swallowed, feeling her gaze rake over him as sweat beaded on his forehead.

Then, she did the unthinkable- she hugged him.

xxxx

_Six years earlier :_

Birkita wrapped Sheppard's mangled, swollen wrist in scraps of fabric torn fro the base of her silky robes as tightly as both could manage. Sheppard worked for some time at the shackle about his ankle in the cool of the night in vain for a while before gesturing with a wave for Birkita to come to him. The Garou slunk across the ground, mostly crawling her way to the tiny spit of sand where the reach of their chains overlapped, dragging her fettered ankle behind her and wincing with the motions. He gently pulled her naked, bloodied ankle into his lap and pried at the spring-loaded trap closed upon the slender limb. Blood dribbled onto Sheppard and soaked through his BDUs in warm spots, but Birkita clenched her hands into tight fists and bit down on her lip, holding back any sounds of discomfort. If she had not, Sheppard might not have been able to work so aggressively to free her. After a while, when the work seemed absolutely devoid of any reward and as the torches began to sputter and die, Sheppard gave up entirely on that venture instead of butchering her leg any further under the pale light of a waxing moon.

He winced at the sight of her scarlet blood contrasting so sharply against the pallor of his skin like oil in the dark and mumbled, "Sorry."

"It's alright," Birkita whispered back, withdrawing her ankle and rubbing the muscles dolefully.

For a while, neither said a word. Instead, they sat in silence. Birkita kept her gaze upon Korshad, while Sheppard flopped back in the soft sand and stared up at the stars before him. The stars of Pegasus had always been unfamiliar to him, their patterns alien and unique to each individual planet. After having seen the same, plain stars of Earth for his long life, often relying on their presence for both navigation and personal assurance, it had been disconcerting at first to see the thousands of different skies Pegasus had to offer. Now, even the most unusual of patterns in the heavens of twinkling lights gave Sheppard comfort. He wondered where Atlantis was out there in the vast expanse, reassured that the city _was _out there somewhere. He lost himself in the glittering stars, swimming in the inky black until he felt the torches went out and Sheppard felt the dark of the night press back upon him.

After a long while, Sheppard spoke without taking his eyes off those stars. "So.... where do you come from?"

Birkita said nothing for a long minute, as though contemplating what to say before answering, "Long ago, when the world was still young, the Moon walked the Earth in the shape of a great, white wolf, roaming the woods as she pleased. The forests of the night were still wild, untamed, and endless, belonging to the Moon, and to her alone," Birkita recited softly and solemnly, hugging her knees close to her chest. "But man was foolish enough to chance the Moon's wrath, encroaching on her forests and tearing the ancient trees to the ground."

Sheppard sniffed, running his hands through the cool grains of sand. "I take it that didn't end well?"

Birkita chortled, the sound rattling in her throat like a rumbling growl. "Ever defy a god?" She shook her head and rubbed the back of her neck dolefully. "It never ends well. The Moon, bitter and enraged at the sin, hunted the humans in her wolf skin, killing them wherever they dared defile her forests, until, one night, she came across a mated pair. They threw themselves at her mercy, offering her their twin babes before fleeing to the shadows. The Moon kept the children, raising them as her own as a punishment before man, twisted them against their species to hate their fellow man, to be.... disgusted by the abomination against nature man had become. However, when she pitted her beautiful, ugly children against man, they refused. They would not kill needlessly."

"Developed a conscience, eh?"

Birkita shrugged her slender, pale shoulders. "Supposedly. They laid down their lives before their mother as an even trade for the humans they were to kill. So moved was the Moon by their gesture of peace, that she gave her children their second skin, the ability to be both wolf _and _man, like their holy mother. The Moon charged her children to keep watch over man, to seek out justice when needed and to protect, to cultivate man to the potential she saw in her own two children. They became the first Garou." She gave a grandiose flourish of her nimble hands and smirked sheepishly. "Or so the myth says."

Sheppard cocked an eyebrow in her direction. "And what do you think?"

Birkita gave another shrug. "I don't know. Some of the Garou have suggested that we're descended from some sort of older Protean matter. Who knows and who cares? Does it really matter where the Garou came from so long as we exist?"

Sheppard considered her answer before pressing, "No, where specifically did you come from?" When Birkita shrugged it off, the colonel rolled to his side, staring at her accusingly. "You and the others aren't exactly Pegasus locals, are you?"

"Nope," she said with a wistful smile. He wanted to ask more about her and her kind, but Birkita tossed her head to the pink blushing in the sky. "It's going to get very hot and very dry soon. Best to keep quiet. We got to make the water last, and it'll lessen the need to drink."

Sheppard knew that well. Basic survival. It only bothered him that _she _knew it as well.

xxxx

The first day on the chains dragged on in utter misery as a scorching sun blazed overheard. Droplets of sweat poured off of Sheppard and the two Garou. The blistering sunshine stung at his eyes, and Sheppard reluctantly bowed his head for some small semblance of shade and cool comfort. He tried to move as little as possible under the sweltering heat, keeping his exertions and, thusly, water consumption to a minimum.

Sheppard realized by midmorning that the radiant sunlight had blinded Birkita once more by the slow care to her motions. She kept herself still and silent as possible, drawing faint, tiny breaths. Her head cocked and swiveled about, training on sounds. Occasionally, Birkita lifted her nose to the delicious but rare breezes to catch the scents carried on the wind, but, otherwise, the Garou kept to herself and behaved.

The three said nothing, taking only scant sips of water from the bucket to wet their tongues and throats with Birkita taking it in her cupped palm to dribble on Korshad's lips, but it never seemed enough to make a difference. It did not matter. The water ran out by what Sheppard took for noon in this planet. By the afternoon, the effects of prolonged exposure to the sun and dehydration were starting to emerge. Birkita's pale, albino skin flushed an unnaturally burnt pink to red. Their breaths turned ragged and gulping, sucking the cool air down. Sweat poured off of them for a while before tapering off and leaving their skin feverish and clammy to the touch. His tongue felt oddly fuzzy and swollen, as though two or three sizes too large from his own, parched mouth. It took a concerted physical effort to draw breath and swallow.

By the late afternoon, when Sheppard saw Birkita begin to fade and slump, he bade her over to him, pulling her by her arm until the girl molded towards him. Korshad had fallen too far away to reach, but Birkita was still close enough to reach. Carefully, the colonel eased her head against his shoulder and his against hers. Together, they held one another aloft from the sand and formed a minute pocket of shade between them. It wasn't much, but it was a small comfort and kept their already burnt faces out of the sun's hot rays. Sheppard did not know how long they lazed there, both of their eyelids drooping, growing heavier by the minute.

When Sheppard opened his eyes next, night had fallen. It had become both intensely dark and refreshingly cool, and a fresh bucket of water set between them. He jerked, his muscles stiff and aching in protest from having sat in such an awkward position for so very long. Sheppard untangled himself from Birkita's lanky limbs, and the albino slowly stirred and stretched out like a tired puppy, curling her toes in the sand. They moved together to the bucket and sipped some of the clear water, savoring the arctic chill of it sliding down their throat when compared to the searing heat of the day.

They went to the far reaches of their fetters to relieve themselves and, afterwards, when they sat out, under the stars, Sheppard broached the subject once more, his voice hoarse. "You never told me where you came from."

"No," she rasped, her pale eyes cast downward. "I didn't."

"So.... you going to tell me?" He swallowed, wetting his tongue once more. "Or keep your captive audience waiting?"

Birkita's lips quirked at the joke, and she sighed. "Marksville, Louisiana. A town so small and so poor, it would have to steal a horse just to be a one horse town." She turned to him under the pale moonlight. "You?"

"Here and there," Sheppard responded with a shrug. "Traveled around a lot when I was a kid."

"Hmm."

Sheppard glanced to her flushed face staring up at a nearly full moon, swollen and pregnant with light. "So how'd you end up way out here in fair Pegasus?"

"I don't know," Birkita admitted, her words pained. "It was right before Katrina hit. We knew there was a big storm coming. We lived outside of Marksville, more to the country of Avoyelles Parish. You know how it goes with backwater towns. Everyone knows everyone else's name, and all that. Sheriff Haskel drove around to every house in our area and told us it was up to us whether we wanted to leave or not, but he made it damned clear he was getting out of town while the roads were still clear." Birkita shivered visibly, drawing her legs up to her. "We didn't need the warning. We could feel it. We thought it would be bad." Her head turned to him, her frozen eyes wide with realization. "Was it bad? The hurricane?"

"Animal instinct," Sheppard surmised before he shook his head solemnly and sighed. "It was bad, Birkita. Very bad."

Birkita gave an appreciative nod. "My dad - Vortigern - Weylin, and I stayed back a bit to make sure the rest of the pack got out before the storm hit."

"Pack?" Sheppard raised a curious brow. "How many Garou are there out there?"

The wolf gave a quick shake of her head. "I can't tell you. I've already told you too much by telling you where we call home." She flustered nervously, fidgeting with her hands and wringing them. "It's a serious breach of the Law."

"Fair enough. What happened?"

Birkita closed her eyes and drifted, as though she felt the wind upon her cheeks and smelt the spray of the coming rains. "The Avoyelles may not be a large pack, but Vortigern and Weylin wanted to be absolutely sure no one was left behind both Garou and human. He said he could feel it in his bones. He said no one should be left behind, not even our human neighbors. Miss Priscilla took the most convincing. She was this bitty little grandma that lived all alone just down the road from us. Just her and this snippy little yorkie in this big, old house. Jeremy Hartman loaded down his car with all her things as she sat on her front porch and just pitched a fit. She didn't want to leave. We spent maybe four hours trying to convince Miss Priss that she needed to get out of town fast. Weylin finally convinced her to go by just stuffing her rat of a dog in Jeremy's car. She climbed in after it, we slammed the door, and Jeremy bolted. After that, we were the last three out. The storm had already made landfall." Birkita flushed, turning her gaze downward in shame. "I ran into the house to grab something, and, when I came out, I ran right into white light."

"A culling beam," Sheppard supplied matter-of-factly, prodding idly at the sand. "The Wraith picked you up."

"I guess."

Sheppard furrowed his brow. "The Wraith didn't know where Earth was back then."

"This one did," Birkita argued in a feral tone.

"Definitely rogue," Sheppard mused, pondering just how dangerous the Wraith really was to have gone against the grain of his kind for so very long. His mouth dropped open in surprise. "Wait.... they knew where to find you?"

The albino tensed. "Yes."

"How?" Sheppard barked.

"I don't know. They were hunting us, I guess." Birkita pursed her lips together for a long moment before going on. "He dropped us off with Sin'ai, special delivery." She sighed before adding with a roll of her eyes in a low hiss, "You can probably figure out the rest from there."

While Sheppard did not admit that he couldn't, Birkita intentionally turned her back to Sheppard then and left him to his thoughts.

xxxx

Morning dawned much the same as the day before, the plaintive growling of Sheppard's empty stomach waking him. Time stretching endlessly before Sheppard and the two captive Garou. Sheppard's head throbbed with dehydration through the day, but he and Birkita shared their shade with one another. They spoke little, finding little sense in idle banter that day. Sheppard once asked Birkita and Korshad if they knew any Johnny Cash tunes and received nothing but an eye roll from the albino for his efforts, but uneasy silence prevailed for the most part.

That night, though, as Sheppard drifted in and out of sleep, roused by grumbled mutterings to his side. He turned his head but kept very, very still. To his side, perhaps twelve or fifteen feet away, sat Birkita and Korshad speaking in hushed whispers. Korshad seemed imploring, occasionally darting his eyes in Sheppard's direction and sending shivers down the colonel's spine, but Birkita continually shook her head, her pale hair shimmering under the moonlight.

"My Lady.... please..." Korshad begged, his voice cracking. "Please."

"I said no," Birkita spat venomously, rising slowly and quite deliberately, every motion etching effort upon her pale features. "I will not break the Law I have sworn to keep."

She went to the far length of her chain and flopped to the ground, silencing any further debate between the Garou.

The next morning, Korshad seemed restless, rolling on the ground and growling idly through his teeth. Birkita moved tensely about, despite her prior warnings to conserve energy. Korshad sat up, staring intently at Sheppard, his gaze feral and hungry, unnerving the colonel. As the day wore on and the male wolf grew increasingly agitated, Birkita occasionally snapped back, rumbling at him in noises not meant for human throats. The albino paced, her muscles primed and flinching, never turning her back on Korshad. She kept her eyes on Korshad until the blinding sun robbed her once more of her sight. Then, the well sunburnt Birkita slumped to the ground but kept an ear constantly pricked to Korshad's direction.

When the sun began to set and the sky blazed in brilliant vermillion, Sin'ai's personal guards dumped another bucket of fresh water between their captives, but Birkita largely ignored it and moved quickly. Sheppard swallowed his unspoken ration and watched the Garou warily as the albino circled. She went to the far reach of her chain and stretched beyond it. With her pale hand, the Garou dug a circle about herself, marking the farthest reach of her long, slender arms. Sheppard furrowed his brow but said nothing, silently moving out of the way as she passed.

As the twilight deepened, Birkita finally lifted her pale gaze to Sheppard, those eyes fluttering between canine and human. "Stay close to me now-" the Garou darted a suspicious glance to Korshad "- and don't leave the circle."

Sheppard did not argue, curling protectively about the bucket and drawing near to the albino, as Korshad kicked up, his muscles rippling and bulging. The Garou stamped his feet almost malevolently, as thought asserting his dominance. There was no humanity to Korshad anymore. It had been stripped away by however long spent baking in the sun of this world, torn apart by pure desperation and hunger. Those eyes that had seemed so pained and tortured just a day ago held nothing but animalistic rage and delight. It was the same delight Sheppard had seen so very often on the faces of many a Wraith to hold him pinned. It was the face of a hungry predator presented with cornered prey.

"What's going on, Birkita?" the colonel whispered.

It was not as though he truly needed an answer. In fact, Sheppard had known somewhere in the back of his mind all day. A nigging sort of thing, tugging at his instincts. He had felt the predator stalking him, hungering for him, but he had ignored the sensation, rationalizing that the Garou would not harm him. Sheppard had knowingly pressed the fact that the Garou were animals at the very core of their existence from his mind, a critical error in retrospect.

Birkita stiffened as a sliver of white appeared over the wall of the training yard and as tufts of snowy white fur sprouted along her neck and arms. "Full moon."

xxxx

Turali Sin'ai was not, by nature, a foolish man. Far be it. He was the epitome of a calculating and enterprising individual. It was his hand that tamed the Garou by taking their beloved Anput as his mistress, and it was his skill that morphed pit fighting into an exceedingly profitable business through the wolves' teeth. Before Lady Birkita, the wolves had been difficult to tame and prod into action. They were a proud and defiant race, but the merest of whims of their Anput, their Lady Birkita, turned them into nothing more than sniveling little puppies. Once Sin'ai acquired her, his truest treasure of an albino, the Garou fell into line and became his perfect ring fighters, following at their lady's beck and call. It had been a trifle to manipulate the Garou once he had Birkita. And Birkita? She had been the easiest of all to play, with her weak, naive and sympathetic heart. All Sin'ai had to do was threaten excessive harm to the Garou to keep her in line before.

But those newcomers had changed that.

Sin'ai stood upon a high balcony overlooking the yards, a small grin forming on his face as he watched Birkita put herself between the half starved put and John Sheppard; he had been quite careful to time his other events and his travel to be there for that moment which he had orchestrated so very carefully. Birkita would fold. Sin'ai knew it. She would beg and cry and plead before the full moon rose over the keep wall and threw the captive, hungry Garou inexorably into their full change. He had known the girl long enough to know her pathetic, soft heart. She would do anything to spare her fellow beast and her fellow human. This, Sin'ai knew and banked on. Then, Sin'ai, the caring nobleman, could swoop in and bring her back to his side, putting his little pet puppies back in line when it came to pit fighting.

Sin'ai stared down with a tremendous ache at the beautiful, pale creature in the dim light. Birkita did not look to him, did not dare take her eyes from the battered, half-starved wolf that stood opposite her, but her head occasionally shifted slightly, allowing her ears to take in the sound about her. She drew deep breaths of the night, balling her fists tightly. Sin'ai did not alert her to his presence, but she knew. Of course she would. After all this time, Birkita of all those about him would know Sin'ai's scent of richly spiced soaps and perfumed robes. He did not even attempt to conceal his scent. If anything, Sin'ai wanted her to know he watched, waiting for her to submit to spare the newcomer.

_"Soon, my pet. Soon you will be mine again." _

Sin'ai turned his attention to Sheppard as Birkita herded him back.

_"And you will be in my pocket as well, John Sheppard."_

Oh, Turali Sin'ai knew of the Lanteans, much as anyone else knew of them. They were beloved in many circles, held in the highest esteem, and loathed in others. John Sheppard's face had been bandied about by the Genii and Wraith alike in various bounty bids. Birkita and the Garou might not have recognized or known John Sheppard, but Turali Sin'ai had been a worldly man, keeping himself abreast of the goings one of their galaxy. Sin'ai had recognized Sheppard from the moment he set his greedy eyes upon the Lantean, well aware of exactly how profitable Sheppard could be in the fighting pit.

Sin'ai settled in to watch and wait.

xxxx

When the change came upon the two Garou, it came so swiftly and with such little warning that it startled Sheppard. One moment, the two had been staring one down like something from the kind of bad b-horror flick he knew Rodney secretly adored. The next thing Sheppard knew, both had thrown themselves to the ground as soon as the pale moonlight hit them, going to all fours and howling venting cries at the stars. Muscles surged, and fabric rent, shredding violent to make way for flesh that could not longer contain. Fur bristled where there had been soft, vulnerable human skin, as joints popped and snapped into completely new angles. The spring-loaded bear traps holding both the Garou expanded with a metallic groan to accommodate the wider legs of the Garou's wolf skin. Korshad leapt before the change even settled fully, diving towards Sheppard, his mouth hanging open and drooling with strings of glistening saliva beads as teeth grew into pearly fangs and his jaw reshaped to a pointed muzzle.

"Shit!"

Sheppard scrambled backwards as Korshad came down upon him, no longer a man but a great, smoky grey wolf, scrawny and mangy in coat. Chains jangled loudly in the night overly the snarling fray. The Garou landed hard, sending Sheppard back and to the ground. The bucket clattered to the ground, spilling the precious water. The colonel grabbed a fistful of sand as he went down and swept his arm up, lobbing the grit directly into the wolf's golden eyes with uncanny accuracy and sending the beast balking and jumping back in fright. It was a momentary distraction, but enough for Sheppard to slip out from beneath the writhing, twisting bulk of the starved wolf. However, Korshad shook it off, recovered quickly and turned for Sheppard once more, lunging and snapping.

The grey wolf never had the chance as Birkita came reeling into the picture. She rushed Sheppard and tucking her shoulder down, slamming herself hard into the human and knocking him just out of the way of Korshad's crushing jaws. He rolled with the motion to the side just as the grey wolf's jaws came clapping down on Birkita's pale hide. The albino yelped and growled, wheeling to the side and dragging Korshad by his teeth. Those pointed fangs raked down her side, tearing her pale flesh and staining the tips of her hairs a rosy tinge. Birkita swung left and suddenly whipped right, ripping herself free from Korshad's grasp.

Sheppard took the opportunity to crawl back and away, out of the reach of the Garou, careful to stay within the dug circle of Birkita's protective reach. Korshad ran for him again, but the albino stepped nimbly between them, hunching down and raising her hackles. A low growl rippled in the air between them in warning, stopping Korshad deep in his tracks. He raised his lips and bared his pink stained teeth.

When Korshad charged again, Sheppard jerked back, recoiling to the far reach of his chains and well out of the way of both the Garou. They twisted and fought, snarling and snapping. The pair wrestled against one another, white fangs brilliantly contrasting in the dark. Birkita was the smaller, much smaller than Korshad, but she was faster and in better physical condition that the grey wolf. She moved swiftly, dancing just out of his reach and waving her bushy tail in taunt. Korshad swiped with his massive paws but caught only scant tufts of snowy white fur between his monstrous claws. Birkita let out almost mocking, hooting barks, ducking her head and allowing Korshad to draw near before lilting just beyond his reach once more. Just as Korshad got close, Birkita yipped teasingly, toying with Korshad like a child's game of tag.

_"She doesn't want to hurt him_,_" _Sheppard realized, licking his dry, cracked lips in anticipation.

However, Birkita's game could only distract Korshad for so long. The grey wolf grew tired of all the effort with no game. He hungered and demanded to be sated. Korshad drove Birkita to the far reach of her chain, positioning himself between the albino and Sheppard before turning tail. The albino bolted to intercept Korshad, but he circled hard, drawing the clanking links of his chains and jerking them up with a practiced kick of his leg. The fetters whipped through the air, clipped the albino's head sharply with an awful crack and caught Birkita by her ankles, tripping her and spiking the albino to the ground in a sprawled heap.

Without Birkita at his heels, Korshad came for the colonel once more. This time, Sheppard was ready for him. As Korshad came close, Sheppard held his breath and waited until the grey wolf came in range, swinging out with the bucket and connecting solidly with the Garou's head. Korshad tumbled to the ground, momentarily stunned.

A giddy little thrill tickled Sheppard at the thought of besting the Garou so easily, but Korshad clambered to his feet uneasily and bolted for Sheppard once more. Without any weapon to defend himself, Sheppard crawled back, climbing to his feet once more to run as far as his chain would allow until it pulled taut on his ankle. And, still, Korshad came, slinking with his jaws parted in what seemed a sadistic, toothy grin of savored victory.

Sheppard balled his fists, ready for the Garou to strike. In the back of his mind, Teyla whispered reassuringly and softly, cautioning him to be mindful of his opponent and his ground. She murmured a quick reminder that a wolf was a combatant like any other, its motions and attacks just as easily read through facial expression and subtle muscle twitches. Sheppard kept his stance low, staring as the smokey grey wolf licked its chops with a broad, pink tongue, eager to devour his due rewards. Sheppard ignored the way the subtle flick of a tongue sent his heart racing, keeping his eyes locked on the wolf and standing his ground. Fighting anyone was a little like playing poker, watching for subtle tells, and Sheppard rather liked poker. Thus, when Korshad's golden eyes flicked to slightly the side, Sheppard was one step ahead of him.

The grey wolf struck swiftly and without mercy, pouncing upon Sheppard. As he sprang, Sheppard caught the wolf by its meaty neck and threw himself hard to his left. Both combatants went down in a cloud of sandy dust. Sheppard bore down on Korshad's throat and locked his elbows as the Garou jerked in his grasp and clawed back to his feet. Those powerful jaws bit at Sheppard, but the colonel managed to hold the Garou just beyond the reach of those teeth. Hot breath poured down on Sheppard as Korshad barked and growled, splattering slobber on Sheppard's face.

The Garou switched tactics, lashing out with those razor sharp talons. Sheppard hissed and grunted as the claws tore through his arms with hot oaths. The scent of blood was thick and hot on the air, further maddening the crazed Garou. The wolf slashed harder and fiercer, striking to rip open Sheppard's chest, ripping at the colonel's black shirt. Out of the corner of his eye, Sheppard caught the motion of a white shape, but he felt alone beneath this wolf.

The man had to do something before the Garou struck a major blood vessel. Sheppard dared slip one hand from the Garou's toned neck up along the thin, scraggly fur. The Garou snapped wildly and with the complete abandon of his bloodlust, turning his head towards the reaching hand. Sheppard closed his fingers on the thick, carved skull, jamming his thumb into Korshad's eye. The Garou cried out in agony but kept driving beyond reason, beyond the pain for vengeance as much as nourishment. Sheppard held his breath and pressed harder, jamming his thumb into the Garou's eye socket until he felt a sickly pop as delicate flesh gave with a stream of hot, vitreous fluid upon his fingers and hand. Korshad jerked and pulled his head away, blinking furiously at the eye that Sheppard had so completely destroyed.

Birkita gathered herself at that moment and leapt, catching the grey by the meaty underside of his neck and digging her paws into the sand, rearing back and hauling the grey off of Sheppard. Korshad howled in rage and pain and craned his head down, clamping his powerful jaws down upon Birkita's pale neck and crunching down. Birkita gave a gasping cough through parted jowls, struggling to draw breath. She bucked wildly, but Korshad merely held tighter to her. Korshad adjusted his grip and clamped down; Birkita croaked, her eyes bulging out widely as he crushed down on her wide pipe.

_"He'll kill her."_

Sheppard moved without thought then, without remorse, gathering a section of his own chain in both hands and rushing the Garou. He swung the chain about Korshad's neck, practically straddling the wolf. The grey wolf male his hold on Birkita to snap for but a moment, but it was too late. The colonel twisted his hands and tightened the chain about Korshad's bony neck. The wolf kicked and scrambled, his claws tearing at both Birkita and Sheppard as he continued to hold to the female. Eventually, his hold on Birkita loosed enough for her to slip through his teeth. Sheppard, however, did not release the wolf until his body kicked once in a death twitch and went still, slowly losing its fur and reverting to a distinctly human shape. Only then did Sheppard release his hold of Korshad's corpse and sink to the sandy ground.

Sheppard stood for what felt like ages, just staring and panting, gulping at the cool, sweet, night air to catch his breath. His muscles burnt from the exertion, screaming for attention. His head swam dizzily, the world tilting drunkenly on its side. Sheppard collapsed to his knees, as exhaustion rose up and the agony flaring anew in his wrist. Sheppard knelt there and trembled, clutching his wrist close to his heaving chest as his nerves still flared and as adrenaline still coursed through his veins.

He stared vacantly at Korshad's human corpse, splayed out beneath the stars, a ring of dark marks slowly blooming at the neck as the body cooled. Sheppard had killed many men and countless Wraith in his life, but this felt different. It felt.... _wrong. _Korshad had been driven mad by starvation and dehydration, allowing the animal within to take over. Korshad had likely never meant to hurt Sheppard or Birkita, only hoping to end his own suffering. His hunger and rage had blinded him, and his attack was nothing more than the last, terrified attempt to survive from a man well beyond his physical, mental, and emotional breaking points. It could not be considered a victory, no matter how hard earned it had been, for killing Korshad had meant killing a dead man in the end. Sheppard shuddered, wondering how long it might take Birkita or he to reach the very same breaking point on those chains in the searing hot sun. With that grim realization, the adrenaline and the fight-or-flight instincts fled Sheppard, leaving him fearing worn out and utterly raw.

Birkita raised her pointed snout to the moon and let out a lamenting cry at Korshad's pale, soft, _human _feet. It rippled and vibrated intensely in Sheppard's ribcage, lingering like a low humming. She loose three cries to the night, three long, keening howls of bittersweet sorrow before she whimpered lightly and limped to Sheppard's side, dragging the chain with her. Her canine eyes were wide and glistening as though mourning. She plopped down to the side and rested her head on his hip, staring at the still corpse. Sheppard placed his hand upon her ivory neck and she gently licked his fingertips. They had survived, together, and a part of Sheppard took hope in that as he slipped down and buried his head in her white fur.

He stroked her fur and murmured in her ear in gentle promise, "We're going to get out of here, you and I. I swear."

He just had to figure out how.

xxxx

Turali Sin'ai had initially been completely taken back by the events unfolding before him. He had thought the Lady Birkita would call out to him, beg and plead for Sin'ai to spare her human and Garou companions. And, yet, in her wolf skin, she had _defended _the human over her kin. It had been surprising and absolutely intriguing to see such a reaction from her. Sin'ai had watched with great delight as the albino put on a treat of a show and came to her human's rescue again and again, and, as he did, the nobleman could practically feel the money that could grace his fingertips with those two in the ring together.

The Wraith at his side hissed in displeasure, but Sin'ai held up a silencing hand. "Dispose of the corpse. Bring them into the shade tomorrow. See that the bitch and her little pet are fed and watered well. I want them ready to go tomorrow night."

**XXX**

**XXXXX**

**XXX**

**Author's Notes : **Oh, yes, did you think I had forgotten about the present day and the past? Nevah! I know, not a very whump worthy chapter. But the next one will be.


	14. Unseen Composer

**FEAST OF THE SAMHAIN - UNSEEN COMPOSER**

Six rather awkward days dragged on in the SGC, the tension constantly mounting the closer the full moon drew. Weylin and Ronon grew increasingly agitated by the day until the morning of the waxing moon, when the infirmary went into emergency lockdown just for them. They bristled and snapped at the strangest of things, irked by minor issues and petty trifles. O'Neill rationalized that it was the proximity of the full moon, quite reminded of his ex-wife's pms related mood swings.

Lady Birkita seemed increasingly pained by the days. She looked hollowed somehow, smaller. The albino spent more time at Sheppard's bedside when not at the negotiations, his gnarled, scarred and misshaped hand cradled delicately between her slender, ivory palms. The doctors kept him sedated heavily now, with the impending change looming over them. Her worry and grief had taken a life of its own as she stood vigil the day of the full moon.

Nodonn Cole, however, did not seem bothered at all. In fact, the captain was rather nonplussed by the whole thing, as well as the dawning full moon. He felt it, an uncomfortable knotting at the base of his spine, a crawling down his nerves, but Cole kept that to himself. Before 1600, the captain selected a book he had been meaning to catch up on reading, poured himself a cup of the swill in his fridge masquerading as tea, and strode down to the infirmary. He saluted Lam as he passed the nervously fidgeting doctor, gave a tiny wave to the slowly pacing Weylin and bowed his head respectfully to the Lady Birkita.

O'Neill drew a deep breath as he watched Cole settle into a chair in the corner before looking to Lam. "Okay, let's lock it down."

There had been special preparations made for the three evenings of the full moons, for the safety of both the Garou emissaries and the soldiers stationed on the base. Aside from essential staff, the infirmary had been cleared out. Guards were posted outside, and every little detail had been tended to. O'Neill and Lam watched from a secure distance as night settled over the base, keeping a wary eye on the Garou while the wolves paced on edge and while Nodonn Cole read away in the corner in an uncomfortable, injection molded chair.

As nightfall settled and the first silver slivers of moonlight graced the mountain overhead, O'Neill's attention pricked to the Garou. It started with Ronon and Sheppard, unable to fight the change with the stubborn tenacity as the true Garou. With twin venting howls worthy of a b-horror movie, they shuffled loose their pallid, human skin in favor of pelts. The abrupt and loud sound from the unconscious surprised O'Neil, perhaps as much as the grotesque sound of bones snapping and popping to accommodate inhuman frames. In a heartbeat, they were not people but some unusual creature straddling the genetic border between human and wolf, followed quickly by the true Garou shifting to something more canine in nature with their own downy pelts.

O'Neill smiled at Birkita and Weylin. The two true wolves shook, shuffling their downy pelts. For a moment, they looked less like deadly predators and more like house pets. Weylin growled lightly before cracking what appeared to be a wide, toothy grin and giving a hooting bark, as though well aware of the impression their tame behavior gave. Weylin even gave a wag of his tail, like an old hunting hound come back to his master. The illusion shattered when both Ronon and Weylin tipped their heads back, howling in wild abandon at the thrill of the change, the electric hum of the night vibrating down their spine and singing in their nerves.

A soft, lamentable sound something like a whimper caught O'Neill's attention. Impossibly, despite the heavy sedation, there was movement from Sheppard. Birkita whined in a keening high pitch, her icy eyes wide and glossy with human emotion that seemed improper on a wolf. The albino tottered over to Sheppard's side, resting her head upon the bed beside his.... well.... it could not accurately be described as a paw or a hand with the scant layering of thin, scraggly fur and mangled talons.

O'Neill flinched when he focused on Sheppard. There was something pathetic to him. The creature that had only moments before been a man was now a downright sad looking beast. His fur looked patchy and mangy compared to the sleek coats of Weylin, Ronon, and Birkita. The hairs appeared coarse and brittle, dry as old straw, with a dullness to it beside the glossy luster of the other Garou. Even in this incomplete form of the Garou, his body seemed impossibly frail and tiny, bones jutting out at every angle, skin pulled taut over his battered frame and adorned by something that could hardly be called a full pelt. He pulled torpidly against the secure leather restraints, writhing sluggishly upon the bed. His eyes were open, slightly, but unfocused and glazed over, pupils overly dilated. Dark tear tracks stained the fur upon his face in twin trails.

Sheppard gave another silent whimper, and Birkita edged closer to him, her pink nose brushing against his arm. She reached out and licked at him tenderly with her wide, velveteen tongue in sweeping laps. It was a maternal gesture, a caring one, like a mother to her cub, and it worked slightly. Sheppard stilled under her ministrations, his vapid eyes turning to the albino, calmed by the female's presence.

"Uh....doc...." O'Neill breathed. "You might want to..."

"I'm on it," Lam answered, but she was already in motion, fixing a syringe of sedative and swiftly administering it through the IV port.

As Sheppard's eyelids drooped closed and the drug took effect, O'Neill breathed a sigh of relief. Even Birkita looked visibly relaxed, easing down onto her haunches but keeping her place at the half-breed's side. The albino kept her frozen gaze settled upon him, even as Ronon paced the room and Weylin fidgeting, both clearly urging to sate the need to run with the night and catch the dawn. And all the while, completely unphased by the strange events unfolding about him, Nodonn Cole sat in the corner sipping his tea and turning a page, a tiny, unnoticed smirk of victory upon his lips.

xxxx

The very next morning, Nodonn Cole began to plan. He had responsibilities now, more so than ever before. He drew up the paperwork for requesting R&R and packed his dufflebag with enough clothes for a few days. The paperwork hadn't even left his quarters, but he knew the request would not be turned down. How could Landry refuse after everything that had happened this week? And, even if he did, Cole would find a way around it. He was resourceful.

Cole finished his task and immediately called his Auntie Babineaux. It took several rings for the woman to answer. Cole did not begrudge her. Sookie Babineaux was an elderly woman to say the least, in her late nineties, and, in her old age, he knew it took her more effort to get to the phone. He also knew, upon glancing at the phone and finding it to be a little after ten. His Auntie Babineaux was a surprisingly spry and active woman for her age, and, at that hour, she would be out in her garden, puttering about and likely swearing about the sassy rabbits that seemed dead set to devour her vegetables and flowers like every year before.

When she finally did ring, it was a bit winded, but with her usual witty charm. "Babineaux residence. Lady of tha house speaking, so you'd best hang up right quick if it's about something for sell, a new mortgage, or donatin' ta the local PTA, thank you very much."

"It's me, Auntie, Nodonn," he answered, grinning widely through his teeth.

"Well, Jesus, Mary an' Joseph. Nodonn Cole as I live and breathe." She chuckled at him almost benevolently but teasingly. "Let me guess. Swingin' inta town for the weekend an' givin' me plenty'a warnin' to start with the cookin'?"

"Something like that, Auntie. If I got some time off, could you put me up for a couple of days?" Nodonn asked politely, gritting his teeth to hold back the Southern accent that always threatened to resurface every time he spoke with the dear old lady. "I'd be real quiet and clean. I promise."

"I know you will if you know what's good for you." Auntie Babineaux paused, but the endearing smile was still evident in her voice as she went on. "I hav'n't seen you in so long, Nodonn. Y'know you're always welcome."

"I know. I'll let you know as soon as I hear word on when I'll be getting down there." Nodonn's face slowly fell as he remembered the more pressing matter of the call. "Oh, and Auntie?"

"Yes, sweetie?"

The captain swallowed hard, his through quite abrupt thick and choked. "Would you do me a favor?"

Babineaux answered with the manners and welcome that had made her quite famous in the quaint little backwater suburb she had lived in since birth. "Anything, my dove."

"Could you call Alain for me? Let him know I'm probably coming into town and need to see him as soon as I get there," Nodonn blurted the words out swiftly before his nerve had even a chance to break. He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Tell him we might have to have to round up the boys."

When Babineaux spoke again, it was calmly but with an edge of worry. "Tell me honestly, you in some kind of trouble, Nodonn Cole?"

"No, ma'am." The captain looked down at the bland phone the base provided to his quarters. "Not me."

xxxx

The three days of the full moon came and went without further event, stalling out any further negotiations, and, each night, Nodonn Cole sat idly by in his corner of the room, drinking his rather foul smelling swill of tea and reading from a book without paying any heed to the antics of the Garou about him. The first night, O'Neill had not taken notice of the reading selection, however, when the book changed for the second night, he could not help but spy the rather ill-mannered selection. Jack London's _The Call of the Wild._ Somehow, it seemed in poor taste granted the situation, but the general said nothing to rouse any further attention to the captain in his corner. The Garou would not know the plot of a tame dog returning to the rough and to his baser instincts, but it still felt a cruel gesture, all things considered, even if it weren't an intentional slight. Fortunately, as expected, the Garou did not notice the potential insult.

The morning after the wane, things returned to a relative state of normalcy for the SGC. The now medically cleared Nodonn Cole put in for some well deserved off base R&R following the incident, which Landry granted. The Garou slumbered in the infirmary, resting following the change, curled up wherever they decided to drop the last night in frustration, shifting back to their human skins by dawn. All but Birkita. She balled up like a loyal pet beneath Sheppard's bed in her ivory fur to sleep with her head delicately perched upon her long, crossed forelegs, her ears occasionally flicking to the sounds about her as the infirmary returned to everyday order and routine.

O'Neill could breath a definite sigh of relief; they'd survived their first _Earth _full moon with real, honest-to-god werewolves. This had been one of the largest worries from the Earth bound side of negotiations. The Garou had worked for years in Pegasus as personal bodyguards to offworld teams and search-and-rescue squads. One of the major boons offered by Lady Birkita in exchange for the SGC's assistance had been an extension of their service to include the Milky Way teams as well, and a part of O'Neill, likely the five-yeard-old in him, had to admit a giddy little thrill at the thought of traveling the cosmos with a werewolf at his side. It made him a touch jealous of the current offworld teams if the deal ever went through.

After 0700, Weylin retired to his quarters, while Ronon dressed and went back to slumbering, just before Nodonn Cole arrived in civilian wear. He looked down, studying the floor and the scruffy, worn leather boots upon his feet intently. O'Neill frowned at the seeming disquiet to the captain, the unease to his expression.

"You look disappointed," the general observed in a shade of a whisper, but Cole merely shrugged his shoulders. "Well, I heard it earned you a week's R&R," O'Neill teased. "Go on. Enjoy it."

Nodonn nodded slowly, mulling it over before pulling a plain, white envelope from his coat and holding it out to O'Neill. "Would you do me a favor and give this to the Lady?"

The general cocked an eyebrow. "I'm not so certain love letters are exactly the best way to help negotiations any."

"It's not a love letter," Cole correctly sternly, narrowing his eyes.

O'Neill shrugged it off and accepted the letter, setting it safely aside and watching as Cole knelt slowly, carefully, before the white wolf nestled beneath the gurney. The captain reached out and stroked the downy white fur, gently rousing the albino. Lady Birkita stretched out, flexing her toes and yawning with a great, toothy maw before fixing her frozen gaze upon him. Nodonn smiled sadly and wrapped his arms about her neck, nuzzling against the wolf like a dog himself.

Nodonn whispered into her ear so softly, it was unlikely any human could hear. "I'm sorry."

And, with that, Nodonn Cole left the Garou contingent and the SGC, turning tail and running home to Shreveport.

xxxx

Lady Birkita Canagan quite resolutely decided the morning of the wane to remain in her wolf pelt for as long as possible to buy herself some time to think after Weylin shifted back and retired for the day. The albino stayed curled up on herself beneath Sheppard's gurney long after Nodonn Cole left, reassured of his safety by her proximity to the halfbreed, allowing his soft respirations to lull her frayed nerves and give her peace enough to plot. For days on end, the Garou had stalled the human representatives as long as possible without rousing suspicion, employing every possible excuse and even refusing to acquiesce to continued negotiations during the three days of the full moon, citing completely bunk religious reasons. Humans - at least Americans - had apparently grown slightly less intelligent and slightly more paranoid about political correctness in the years following the Garou's abduction, constantly playing so foolishly into her game, but there was only so much of that they would allow.

Birkita pondered over Landry and the rest of the SGC, along with the other Earth bound delegates, worrying herself. They kept glancing to her pale skin and ivory hair with such covetous looks, and it unsettled Birkita. Even the chastised and humiliated archeologist, Dr. Jackson, kept shooting her intriguing, prying stares. Were she in human skin, she may have frowned in displeasure at the mere thought. In her wolf skin, she bit back the urge to growl low and threatening, to the miniscule pack about her from this outsider, this intruder to their domain.

However, there was O'Neill. Birkita flicked an ear to the gentle droning of O'Neill's voice as he spoke in soft tones with the doctor without actually listening to the words spoken. She saw the way he stared, the genuine curiosity to his eyes. He radiated compassion and concern for Sheppard. The more she thought of him, the more and more Birkita rather liked the general compared to the rest of the Cheyenne Mountain staff. She mused that, in time, he could be a fitting ally.

Birkita lolled to the side and yawned widely, mindful not to bear her canine teeth in anything that could possibly be misconstrued as a threat as O'Neill left with a tiny wave in her direction, escorted by Dr. Lam who likely intended to speak in private with the general. She watched through a cracked eye as Ronon rose. The Satedan halfbreed had been uneasy the three days of the full moon, skulking about and glowering at anyone who dared draw too close, even Weylin. Something bothered him, putting him on a short fuse.

Birkita shrugged to herself and settled in. There was no sense in getting agitated over him or trotting off to follow neatly by his heels. She may have been the Law of the Avoyelles, but the albino had learnt quite swiftly ages ago that Ronon Dex answered to no law but his own.

xxxx

"O'Neill!"

The voice snapped in the hall, cutting like a whip blow after the general. Jack froze in his step but did not turn around. He recognized both the voice and the tone as belonging to none other than a seriously enraged Ronon Dex. The Satedan halfbreed had spent days stewing in the infirmary, held back by the threat of Weylin's teeth and whatever diplomatic ties the Lady Birkita held over him. Even Dr. Lam joined the general in a collective shudder that they had not managed to get further away before Ronon came after them.

"O'Neill!" Ronon growled again, the name vibrating in his throat like a threatening growl.

The general took a deep, steeling breath before turning to face the scowling man. "Can I help you?"

"Yeah," Ronon huffed bitterly, folding his arms across his chest. "How long you plannin' on leaving him like that?"

"Beg your pardon?"

"You know what I mean!" The burly man snapped, his muscles flexing and tensing as though fighting to urge to just haul out and slug someone- anyone- right there in the hall regardless of rank. He stilled then, forcing the words out. "How long are you going to keep him like that? Tied up and drugged like... a wild animal?"

O'Neill's face fell to something akin to sympathy. "Ronon.... we can't-"

"Can't what?" Ronon demanded, barking hotly in her pale, prim face before sourly turning his shoulder to her with barely contained rage. He shivered, a gesture strange and incongruous from the Satedan before forced himself to stillness and continued solemnly. "You can't keep him locked up forever. That's what made him this way." O'Neill noticed how the Satedan's muscles quivered as he balled a fist before going on, "It didn't help before, and it's only going to make things worse."

Dr. Lam dropped her gaze to the floor before admitting, "He's made great progress. The pneumonia and infection are clearing, and his fever's down. We already started weaning Colonel Sheppard off the stronger sedatives to a lower dosage, but I don't think taking him off sedation entirely is the best idea."

"And then what?" Ronon pressed furiously.

"And, then we discuss options as they arise," Dr. Lam answered quickly with a practiced air of false dignity and composure.

Ronon sniffed. "Meaning you have no idea what you're going to do with him."

"Meaning we'll have a better idea when Colonel Sheppard is in better physical condition."

Ronon did not turn to face her. "Whatever, doc."

xxxx

"Ok, Colonel, time for breakfast!"

Birkita stirred in her sleep, pricking her ear to the overly chipper nurse as she approached. The ridiculously fake sunshine from these strangers as they handled Sheppard like cargo irritated the Garou to no end. It was a sickly sweet charm that barely hid their unease and fear of the man who could no sooner hurt a fly than lay a tooth upon them with how many drugs they kept in him. They spoke to him like a child, not a grown man and hero. Birkita hated these false niceties, these disgusting platitudes and displays of twisted affection from people who hardly knew the man.

Birkita's furred ruffed down the line of her spine, raising her fur in annoyance before settling once more. There was no sense in raising any issue with this whether in wolf pelt or human skin. These strangers in their pale pink scrubs that scurried about and clucked like mother hens had their hearts in the right place, if not their heads. She buried her muzzle in her paws and hoped they would get whatever task they intended over with quickly so she could be left in peace.

The albino dozed for a while longer before she sensed more than knew there was something wrong. It was something to their blood, to their instincts. The Garou felt things, the changes of the air and the hum of the creatures about them in subtle measures, perhaps something to their predatory nature. Birkita awoke with an uneasy sensation, a coiling tension in the pit of her stomach into tight knots.

There was moment over her. Sheppard. Nurses scuttling about, their feet drifting close before darting away. Murmured voices of concern. People gathered about her, closing in, and it made the Garou nervous. Birkita jumped to her feet and scooted quickly out from under the gurney. Something beeped constantly, blaring loudly in her ear. The nurses bustled about and circled Sheppard closely, but not a one of them paid her any attention nor gave her the space to slip through and see him. Birkita whined, a nasally sound, dancing about on the tips of her toes, begging for an answer.

Birkita yet out a light bark only to have one of the nurses turn on her heels and snap, "No! Bad dog!"

That did it. Birkita dropped low to the ground, pinning her ears to the back of her head and raising her hackles. She drew back on her lips and bared her teeth with a throaty growl, letting the sound rattle in her throat and rumble through the infirmary. The albino clicked her ivory teeth, displaying the sharply pointed fangs proudly and driving the nurses back and away from Sheppard in fear of this suddenly feral creature in their presence. They held up their hands as they withdrew, never turning their backs to the wolf in their midst.

With the staff driven far enough back for comfort, Birkita retook her human skin, shuffling loose her pelt with a low, lamenting howl before rising to survey the situation for herself. Sheppard moved restlessly but unconsciously upon the bed, his muscles twitching nervously and spasming as though electrocuted. The man drew panting, awkward breaths, struggling for air but never seeming to get enough. His skin flushed a horrid red as sweat poured off of him.

Birkita raised her delicate, human nose to the air and inhaled deeply, drawing in the various scents of the infirmary, of Sheppard himself. The air tasted strange, filled with the caustic bite of several antiseptics that stung at her nostrils and curled the hairs there. Yet there was something else, something lingering beneath the other scents. Birkita sniffed deeply once more before locating the source of the sickly sweet aroma in a little trash pail tucked to the side. She frowned.

Sheppard let out a low moan, and Birkita put a tender hand to his cheek, feeling the bones sticking out sharply beneath her fingers as she demanded without looking, "Get me a bottle of peroxide and charcoal now. And somebody with half a brain call Ronon and Weylin."

xxxx

Dog drifted in and out slowly amid sharp, stabbing pains, throbbing in his gullet and radiating out through his body. He ached, through every bit of him, the pain coursing with each and every beat of his heart. Searing agony flashed in his skull as voices shouted about him in chaos.

"What happened?"

"... crowd control Weylin...."

"Who's the idiot...?"

"Get back!"

"Why should...?"

"..... only making it worse...."

".... peroxide and charcoal, now!"

Voices, all angry and all bitter, snapping back and forth like rabid wolves. Dog shuddered in his suffering and terror, attempting to curl up on himself and wrap his hands about himself. He had discovered long ago that the sturdy, thick bone to his hips, legs, and ribs could take the abuse far better than the soft tissues of his abdomen and his easily jarred mind. He had learnt to curl up on himself, drawing his legs close to his chest and wrapping his hands about his head protectively, cradling himself against the pain and the driving cold that cut to the quick. Wrapped up like a turtle tucked up in his shelf offered a semblance of safety and security. Yet, here, he could not ball up like that. These masters kept him bound and tied constantly, always exposed to whatever they might wish to do to him. Dog whimpered at the thought and the pain, a thin, dying noise escaping his lips.

A voice rumbled in his ears, surfacing as though from the depths of the sea. "Shh.... shh...." The big man who had taken him went on, speaking to someone else. "What's wrong with him?"

A female voice snarled sternly. "Why don't you ask them?"

"What did you do?" the hulking man barked.

Dog cowered at the shout. What _had _he done this time? He couldn't remember, couldn't think. He could only drift along in the hurt, wanting nothing so much more than for death to take him. Maybe that was it. Maybe he hadn't done anything and _that _was the problem. Dog did not know. His masters were constantly changing the rules, constantly demanding he do or not do something. It was too confusing, too difficult to keep up with the longer things went on.

"I need your help," the female voice whispered softly, hesitantly.

There were hands upon him, on the bonds at his wrists and ankles. Dog wanted to struggle or to ball up on himself, he did, but it was too hard to focus, to coordinate his muscles enough to move in any concerted way. Instead, he settled for loosing a low, begging moan. A warm bulk hefted Dog from his place and pulled him, rearranging the loose, languid limbs as he did with gentle ministrations. The musky scented stranger held him close, wrapping muscular arms about him, enfolding him in a strong embrace that should have been comforting but only sent Dog's stomach churning harder.

The female went on. "Hold him for me."

He closed his eyes tight, squeezing the tears out and silently begging, _"Please, not now. Not again. Not so soon."_

The hands were back on him again, tilting his head back and positioning it carefully. Dog shivered but kept his eyes closed. One of his masters preferred to keep the naked cowering, pathetic beast that was Dog at his side, in his chambers, offering Dog as 'willing and eager to please' to any guests who felt the need to satisfy themselves. Perhaps it was the naked fear in him, the ease of dominance over something so miserable and beaten that brought so many to him. Dog did not care why they did it. He tried not to think about it, to shut his mind down. It was easier..... when they wanted him _that _way, to just not think about it, to just keep his eyes closed and be elsewhere... anywhere but there.

"Sheppard, I need you to listen to me.... can you do that?" the female voice spoke to him once more.

Dog hated it when they spoke to him then. Some where rough and callous, profane to an utterly appalling point, their words each a calculated blow against his manhood. Others spoken sweetly and serenely to his ears, whispering loving promises of taking him away and keeping him all to themselves. Those were the worst, because those were the ones Dog _wanted _to believe.

The voice spoke once more, demanding he surface from the dark of his mind with knuckles that dug into his chin. "Goddamnit. You listened to me in the pits, I need you to listen to me now." The strained voice cracked with emotion, crying perhaps. "Please...."

"Please, Sheppard...." a deep bass intoned sadly behind him, vibrating in the chest Dog felt held against.

Dog licked his lips and cracked open his good eye warily, spying a watery, blurred white shape before him that murmured, "Good, that's good." The white seemed to bob and nod. "Okay. Now, I've got good news and bad news. The good news is we're going to make you feel a lot better. You'd like that, right?"

A hot tear streamed down Dog's face at the boldfaced lie, but he whimpered and nodded. A delicate finger gently brushed away the searing tear as a big hand tenderly rubbed up and down Dog's back. For a moment, just the briefest of moments, Dog lulled into the sensation, holding the warmth of the moment close to him before the abuse he knew all to well would return. His muscles twitched sporadically but relaxed slightly.

"Okay." The white blotch in Dog's vision paused, contemplatively perhaps. "But, the bad news is you're going to feel a lot worse before we can make you feel better. I've got to give you something to make you sick on purpose. I'm really sorry about that part, but I promise we're going to help you. I swear."

_"I swear."_

Something stirred within. The words dredged up from the very depth's of Dog's memories of his Snow White, and a lady's voice echoing the words in his mind. Something about the words, a promise perhaps? A swear. Something that had been sworn to him before. Dog burrowed his head into the muscular form in response only to have it pulled back from his protective nest.

"Trust me."

Dog had no other choice but to give into it, as his little reserves of energy waned. He did not trust, however, feeling saltwater continue to trickle from his eyes down his cheeks in hot paths. He felt his head tipped back as something burning was poured into his mouth and the muscles of his throat massaged, coaxed into swallowing. A few sips of something truly awful, and, then, the manipulating hands fell away, leaving only the reassuring embrace of the big stranger behind him.

"Shh.... shh......" the big man carded his fingers carefully through Dog's hair and over his skull. "How long will it take?"

"Not long... maybe another few minutes..." the female whispered, was it sadly?

Dog furrowed his brow weakly. How long? That could mean only one, terrible thing. They had given him something. Something new. A poison perhaps? A drug to prep him for one, last awful course in the pits. The masters were always trying new concoctions on him, new means to keep his body going underneath him without any concern for how raw and brittle it had become.

Within minutes, Dog knew. His stomach clenched down as all the muscles contracted in one great, big wave. Nausea overtook him instantly, but the hands about him seemed to understand. They held him carefully, cradling his body and tilting his head to the side. A wide, meaty hand rubbed his back tenderly in small, encouraging circles while another set of hands held a chilled metallic basin to his lips. Dog coughed, sputtered and gagged, vomiting up everything from his stomach in one, violent fit, the acid bile burning the back of his throat and his ribs aching from the effort. When it was over, Dog shivered, spent and exhausted once more as the hands moved to lie him back down supine.

"Shh.... you're okay now. You're alright," the bass voice promised as blankets were pulled over him. "You're alright now."

And, strangely, it was true. Dog did feel a bit better now that he had expelled everything from within him. His stomach had settled slightly and felt at least a bit less tight, less uncomfortably twisted. Dog let himself be held close, allowing himself to be drawn into the false sense of security. For a moment, he did not care that this was just a lie, a wonderfully horrible way to lull Dog into an impression of comfort before swiftly pulling the rug right out from under him and plunging him back to his usual suffering. For a moment, Dog just wanted to be held.

"Shh... shh... it's okay," the deep voice reaffirmed. "I'm not lettin' go."

xxxx

General O'Neill arrived in the infirmary well after all the chaos and confusion had died down to a relative calm once more- if such a thing could be said about the diplomatic relations placed upon a knife's edge and revolving about Sheppard. The infirmary staff, it seemed, was currently being held at bay from their patient by the teeth of Weylin, the hulking black wolf stalking back and forth between them and Sheppard. Weylin snapped and growled, being sure to keep the staff driven just beyond the threshold of the infirmary, keeping them from even entering. However, upon seeing the general, Weylin turned his head from the staff only for a moment to look behind him and into the infirmary, likely to the Lady Birkita for guidance. O'Neill waited, wondering if he should say something, but Weylin slunk to the side, allowing the general to pass before returning to his post at the door.

O'Neill surveyed the scene before him curiously. Sheppard still held the only occupied bed in the entire infirmary, however, now, he was not alone. Ronon sat behind him, his long, toned arms wrapped about the near skeletal figure that was John Sheppard, rubbing his back in slow, languid circles, whispering soft things meant only for Sheppard. The Lady Birkita perched on the edge of the mattress, dressed in plain scrubs and holding one of Sheppard's hands in hers.

The general cleared his throat to break the uneasy silence. "I'll have you know it's considered bad diplomacy and bad manners to commandeer our entire infirmary."

Lady Birkita rolled her eyes at O'Neill, produced a small, innocuous seeming blue bottle and tossed it to him. O'Neill furrowed his brow and turned the can over in his hands. It had been opened, the contents spilt, leaving the thing empty and strangely light in his hold. Ensure. The infirmary had forced him to choke down the horrid "milkshakes" again and again after long stints of captivity or brushes with starvation to swiftly pack the lost pounds back onto him. He carefully studied the thing before noticing the label. Chocolate flavored. In all fairness, it was the only flavor that could be considered edible in O'Neill's all too humble opinion.

"It is also in exceedingly poor manners to nearly _kill _someone who is supposed to be in your care," Lady Birkita softly chiding, her voice cutting harshly to the core.

It hit O'Neill quite quickly after that. One Christmas, when Jack had only been four or five, his father, under the loving guise of Santa, had gotten Jack a golden retriever puppy. With the pure, unbridled love of a child, Jack had adored the puppy - which he had promptly named Sam - for the few short weeks it lived. Of course, with a child's innocence, Jack had shared a few chocolates with Sam on New Year's Eve, not knowing the danger. Jack had woken up New Year's Day to Sam lying dead beside him. Jack had never forgotten the experience, making sure that no dog he ever owned after that day was ever allowed anywhere near chocolate.

O'Neill looked down to the can in his hands once more. "They were giving this too him?"

"Yes. Theobromine poisoning," Birkita murmured with a dark scorn, shaking her head. "Any _idiot_ knows you can't give chocolate to a canine." The albino sniffed angrily, tossing her head and her long, ivory locks. "They could have killed him with their good intentions."

"I'm.... I'm truly sorry," the general breathed, feeling it a pathetic offering to the Garou considering the gravity of what had been an otherwise honest mistake. "It won't happen again."

"No.... it won't," Ronon growled softly. "Because I'm not letting them touch him again."

"Now, wait just a minute," O'Neill protested before seeing Sheppard stir slightly at the abrupt noise and dropping his voice to but a whisper. "It was an accident, I assure you. Lam and her guys would never do anything to intentionally hurt a patient," he argued. "They just aren't used to treating your.... kind of people."

"My word is Law," the Lady Birkita stated simply, elegantly, with a commanding air. "And I side with Ronon Dex." She turned her head to Weylin and gave a small nod. "If you would remove the general from my sight."

Weylin wasted no time in snapping and snarling, baring his teeth and slavering before the general. O'Neill saw the fire behind the Garou's golden eyes, the anger and rage deep within, and saw no sense in fighting it unarmed. He stepped back, once, twice, his hands held up, palms empty as the wolf drove him back. The general looked to the ebony wolf sadly, knowing that, while he would step away and give the beast his birth, there were younger, more impulsive soldiers who would not yield so easily in the face of the seeming fairy-tale monster before him.

"Lady Birkita, you're making a big mistake."

The albino snorted. "You and your staff have already made more than enough."

xxxx

Sookie Babineaux felt the change in the wind long before anyone arrived at the quaint, two story house with white gingerbread trim that she had called home since well before the Depression. She could smell it, feel it, like an electrical storm rolling in on the wind. There was a snap to the air, a tension. Sookie Babineaux ignored it, having learnt that all things came in their due time.

Eventually they began to gather, Alain and his boys. She did not like to have Alain and his company lingering for too long at the old house, despite the fact that Alain _was _her grandchild afterall. Sookie Babineaux was no longer as young as she had once been, and the company of such spirited, impulsive and brash creatures taxed the old woman miserably. Her manners, however, were a thing of great import to Sookie Babineaux, and, so, she graciously set out a spread of cold sliced, luncheon meats and cheeses on her silver platter along with fresh rolls for the boys to eat and pitchers of sun tea to drink before retiring to her room for an afternoon nap to sleep through the stifling summer heat.

The old woman awoke from a strange dream, struggling to recall the details of it but finding that, the harder she held to it, the further and further the dream slipped from her. Something about the stars and the Moon herself. Sookie Babineaux shook the memory from her just in time to hear the crunch of gravel at the foot of the long drive. She sighed and ambled out of her first floor room and down the porch steps just as quick as her arthritic legs could carry her, just in time for the cream colored rental car to pull up before her garden.

Sookie Babineaux smiled as Nodonn Cole stepped from the driver's seat and bound up to her, calling sweetly, "Auntie Babineaux."

She grinned. "C'mere an' give me a hug."

Nodonn Cole embraced his Auntie carefully, wary of her brittle, ancient bones. "Thanks, Auntie." He slipped his hold of her, and his face fell. "The boys all here I take it?"

"Invadin' my kitchen as we speak," the spry old woman quipped somewhere between mocking and annoyance. She grew serious once more, seeing the exhaustion behind Nodonn's eyes, the fine lines and heavy bags cropping up from lack of sleep. "You goin' to tell me what this is all about?"

Nodonn looked down. "Can we go inside and do this?"

Auntie Babineaux beamed at him and took his hand in hers. "Whatever you need, Pup."

**XXX**

**XXXXX**

**XXX**

**Author's Notes : **Sorry it has been so long in coming, and sorry it's not as angst-ridden as you might have hoped. School had been really dragging me down the last few weeks. But, maybe, just maybe, you can see the same glimmer of the post-trauma hurt/comfort on the horizon that I spy! Next chapter will have more of the past, so no worries, I haven't forgotten the back story. I just didn't want this chapter to drag on too long and keep me from posting in forever and a day.


	15. Fortissimo

**FEAST OF THE SAMHAIN - FORTISSIMO**

Sgt. William Bill Mayes often felt a bit cheated at life when he considered his unusual employment during the long hours he spent patrolling the perimeter of Cheyenne Mountain in his humvee. Granted, his work was simple, perhaps mind-numbingly so, consisting simply of coasting up and down the mountain roads. Some might argue it was enjoyable, cruising deep into the corners and skimming his eyes along the roads and woods for any signs of potential trespassers. Others would point out how easy it was considering the isolation to the area. In truth, in all of his long years working as a guard at Cheyenne Mountain, he had only ever located a total of twelve trespassers on the mountain, five of which were lost drivers and the other seven were some local teens who had been hunting for an isolated spot to drink and get high.

The secrecy of the base meant he was paid quite well for this services and silence as well, and, yet, it was that which bothered Mayes. All personnel of the base were well aware of the unusual activities that occurred safe below the vast mountain and deep in the rock. Standard operating procedure, really, so that all personnel knew what was at stake if there were ever a security breach. And that taunted Mayes. Here he was, bored out of his mind skimming about the mountain while offworld teams went traipsing about the universe through the Stargate, exploring new worlds and discovering new plants, animals, technologies, and people. It all sounded exhilarating and, perhaps, a bit romantic, while Mayes was stuck driving around the mountain at all hours of the night.

As such, when Mayes rounded the corner along the mountain road heading back towards the North Portal and spied a flash of pale, naked, human skin in the middle of the road, he felt his heart leap in his chest for a second before quaking with guilt as he slammed on the brakes. The humvee skidding to a halt, brakes screeching as it did. For a moment, Mayes sat there, surprised after so many years of such empty, wasted nights on the road.

Then, he reached to his radio and reported, "This is Mayes, investigating suspicious person about one kilometer from North Portal."

"Hostile?" his commanding officer replied quickly.

Mayes shook his head as he climbed down from the passenger cabin of the humvee. "Negative. Appears to be injured and possibly in need of assistance."

"Report back when you have more information."

Mayes nodded to himself as he replied back, "Understood."

It was a pity that Mayes never had the opportunity to follow that order. As he walked the perhaps ten or so meters from his humvee to the body, he never saw the shadows that separated from the black woods, creeping over the asphalt towards him. Instead, Mayes was too focused on the body as he knelt beside it to even notice the dark shapes that stalked him, not even when they drew within a hairs breadth while he felt for a pulse at the nude man's neck. He only become aware of their presence when the man's eyes snapped open, a gleaming, wild honey gold that seemed unnatural on any human's face, right as something heavy and blunt came crashing down upon his temple along with the crushing black of unconsciousness.

xxxx

Ronon tried hard not to think about the consequences of their actions, nor the stark lack of plan. However, sitting there, holding Sheppard's fragile and battered body close to him, Ronon could not help but think such terrible thoughts. They needed a plan, they needed something, anything, some way to ensure at least Sheppard's safety now that the Garou contingent had turned their teeth on the SGC. Ronon, Birkita, and Weylin, they deserved whatever justice or punishment Landry and his superiors meted out, but Sheppard had done nothing to deserve any of the abuses this life had dealt him.

Weylin paced at the door, padding back and forth on something in between human feet and true wolf paws. He stood at his full height, choosing his half-skin now in preference over his wolf pelt, as though aware of how much more like a monster this transitional shape made him appear compared to his wolf skin. The effect was not lost on the soldiers, who gave the Garou his due berth.

"Birkita..." Ronon called softly.

"Hrm?" She cocked her head to the side, listening intently.

"You got a plan?" He inquired.

"I don't think we can even try for diplomatic immunity." Birkita shrugged listlessly. "Maybe they would allow us to return to Atlantis?"

"Us, yes." He looked down to the man in his arms. "But they'll never let us take him." Ronon clutched Sheppard tightly to his chest, stroking the man's long, chestnut hair as he whispered solemnly, "And I will not leave him."

xxxx

Sookie Babineaux prided herself in the strength she still possessed for her age. Admittedly, there were parts of her that were slowly failing, from her pitiable eyesight and aching bones that popped and creaked with every step. Yet, Sookie Babineaux was more than capable of carrying a picnic basket with her, no matter how her younger companions argued otherwise. She trudged uphill through the dark, somber pines to a small clearing on a slight incline with a veritable herd of pups at her heels, listening to them as they laughed and played, some unaccustomed to being allowed to stay up as late as this. There, at the very top, she sniffed deeply, inhaling the soft, mellow scents of the woods and the night, before allowing a few of the women who had come with her to help spread out a blanket to set their spread.

They had brought simple foods with them to this place, only things that would travel well from Sookie Babineaux's kitchen in Louisiana. Smoke and honey cured meats. A few jars of her prize winning preserves. A loaf of bread and a pie she had baked the day before in anticipation of Nodonn's homecoming. Home-made pickles. Fresh picked fruits and vegetables from her garden, as well as some dried fruits from late last season. She had ordered Nodonn Cole to stop at a local grocery for everything they could not bring from home, and Nodonn had taken her willingly, following her about with a shopping cart and loading it down until they had everything his Auntie Babineaux deemed necessary to prepare a hearty cold meal. She was raised to be a gracious hostess always, no matter what the situation or her guests.

She was midway through spreading a bit of peach preserves on a bit of cracker when they came ambling up the hill. Sookie stiffened when the wolves came, loping easily up the hill and the through the rustling graces with such a quiet ease, that they actually startled the old woman. Yet, still, she stood on her aching joints to greet her guests. Nodonn came up the hill easily, taking it in long, even strides as he frog marched the stranger in camouflage clothes to her.

"Ta be that young again," she muttered.

The woman dusted her hands off and clasped them easily in front of her in a formal sort of way to both greet and survey the stranger as Nodonn pushed him to his knees. He was a younger man, perhaps in his thirties, with closely cropped hair and a dapper uniform in mottled green patterning. A soldier, to be certain. He cursed under his breath at Nodonn, lunging at him but started when Sookie Babineaux cleared her throat.

"Ya name?" she called in a stern and authoritative tone that had not been heard in years.

The soldier blinked and stammered, "B-Bill... Bill Mayes."

"I am the Law." She extended a gnarled and wrinkled hand, which he shook hesitantly, his grip limp and weak in his fright. "Sookie Babineaux. Pleased ta make yer acquaintance." She gestured to the blanket and picnic spread. "I was jus' about ta fix myself a bite to eat. Yer jus' tha first of our guests ta arrive, but would ya join me?" Mayes glanced to the woods to the shadows that moved about them, punctuated by the occasional flicker of pearly white fangs in the darkness, and Sookie sighed. "I do hate ta inform ya that the invitation was not optional."

xxxx

O'Neill stared down the long corridor towards the infirmary. By his orders, the Garou were being given a wide berth, which included much of the halls and corridors leading up to the infirmary. Unfortunately, by Landry's orders, the end of the corridors were each lined with heavily armed and armored men. He shook his head solemnly, pondering at how quickly things had just unraveled about him, how what had seemed such reasonably diplomatic relations had fallen to the Garou taking wolf skin and teeth to the SGC.

The IOA and the President alike pushed O'Neill, through messages relayed through the SGC and right to his hands. It seemed the men in charge wanted this mess sorted out and the Garou threat neutralized by any means before they could infect other humans than Sheppard or do any further harm. While each message stressed further attempts to maintain diplomacy, each message had also born the somber and sickening note that, should it come to blows, they try to take the Garou alive or at least in as intact of condition for future study. O'Neill shuddered at the insinuation but recognized the necessity.

Someone tapped on his shoulder, calling softly, "Sir?"

"What?" he barked.

The major before him jumped before stilling and answering, "Three of our security details have failed to report in."

A cold chill ran down his spine, but O'Neill steeled himself. "And you're telling this to me and not Landry, why?"

"Sir... well.... we may have a problem."

xxxx

When the mountains were still shaded in a predawn twilight and shrouded in a gentle mist, they came, trickling in by small numbers. Many arrived by car or truck, parking their vehicles in the middle of the street when the road became clogged. Several came on motorcycles, coasting along the grassy shoulder while many others chose to just walk. From where they came from, O'Neill could only guess, but, as the sky blushed a faint pink and the sun peeked over the mountains, they began to collect on the road leading up to the North Portal. By the time the general arrived at the mouth of that long tunnel, they were already choking the road. Thousands of them. Men. Women. Children. Several of them armed to the teeth with guns and knives, others just muscle bound and haughty in their seeming strength.

However, they were not the only ones out there. In the center of the road, knelt the missing security details. Their hands were behind their backs, likely bound. Behind each of them stood a surly looking fellow, a personal guard.

And, then, there were the wolves.

xxxx

_Six years earlier:_

Drums beat wildly overhead, echoing deep in the stone and vibrating through the halls with a faint hum. Sheppard listened intently, wired from head to toe, perhaps more so than the clearly bristling albino at his side. Crowds roared overhead, their many voices joining together into one glorious, wild chant lusting for the intoxicating, electric symphony of battle, the thrill of the kill, and the ecstasy of blood. It sickened Sheppard, turning his stomach sourly art the thoughts of so many so eager for something as truly awful the pits.

Shortly before dawn, when the sky blushed a pale, rosy cast, the Wraith had come for them, flanked by a cohort of Sin'ai's burly guards to take their captives down into the dark, refreshingly cool and damp stone catacombs beneath the pit. They had been fed a sparse meal of dried meat that Sheppard cared not identify as he worked the tough, difficult slab in his mouth. Birkita, having already retaken human form at dawn, had been given a delicate silk shift dress, elegantly adorned with what appeared to be small, rounded pearls in a filigree pattern of ivy tendrils coiling about her slender form, a seemingly strange token for a prisoner. Once fed and dressed, they were dematerialized in the culling beam of the Wraith dart to be taken..... elsewhere.

The culling beam had dropped them on a bustling, world that Sheppard had never seen before. Towering buildings and smokestacks reached for the sky, piercing the heavens to spew dark plumes of choking, black smoke that stung the eyes. Sheppard found himself reminded of a strangely industrial world, with steam train trestles crossing overhead, but not for Sin'ai's contingent, dumped in a wide, low arena amid the center of all this chaos and noise, nestled amid what appeared the center of town.

All about the arena had stood what appeared a noble gentry, in their pressed, starched shirts and vest, complete with what appeared to be pocket chains and monocles from the distance, like something from a detective novel. They had peered down, a few leering and making suggestive expressions and gestures at Birkita. Most had scribbled down notes in little booklets, their eyes roving over each of the shackled Garou in turn, occasionally making soft commentary to one another. Birkita had growled under her breath while Sheppard had scowled back at them. Bookies.

They had then been taken down into the a vaguely familiar, chilled stone labyrinth. Sheppard had recognized the architectural style as mirroring that of Sin'ai's other fortresses and arenas. The design looked similar, but the pathways they took were different. A clever tactic, Sheppard had to admit, making it far more difficult for Sin'ai's captives to memorize escape routes among the many facilities. Sheppard had stepped lightly, counting his steps, measuring the length of his strides and memorizing the turns as automatically as breathing. He had run the layout over and over again in his mind, perfecting his mental map as they moved but being sure to try to keep this one separate in his mind from the prior keep.

Now, they stood side by side in a dark tunnel in front of a heavy, metal gate of some kind while crowds roared overhead. Birkita leaned heavily to one side, favoring her swollen, bloodied ankle. The albino stood beside him, humming with tension. Sheppard tried to ask her a few times in hushed whispers if she was alright, but Birkita declined to answer, merely giving a curt shake of her head each time he inquired. A part of him wondered if it was the wolf in her, the animal instinct to conceal the severity of any injury for her own safety. While Sheppard was no McKay quality genius, he was damned smart enough to admit that he did not know enough about these Garou to truly venture a guess on the instincts and mentality of these strange creatures that so artfully toed the line between man and beast.

The other Garou fidgeted uncomfortably in behind them, shifting their weight from one foot to the other and back again. Sheppard watched with heightened interest as they stood tensely, their muscles taut and rigid, highlighted by pale threads of blinding light pouring through slats in the steel gates ahead. They growled and snapped at one another, clacking human teeth together for emphasis whenever one drew too close. Sheppard looked to the largest of them, a wolf equal in size to Weylin, who only sneered in response, baring pearly white teeth that were just the faintest bit too sharp to be truly human.

"If you wish to live to see another day, you _will _fight, and you _will _make it entertaining to the Lord Sin'ai," a thin, vile voice rasped in his ear darkly.

Sheppard blinked into the darkness, his eyes adjusting to the bulky shape that had slipped in soundlessly beside him. The rogue Wraith. Sheppard might not have had Teyla's near psychic ability to sense them at great distance, but he could always feel those nasty, slimy creatures when they were close, his spine crawling and tingling from the sensation.

Sheppard hadn't the time to argue or question as the drum beats rose to crescendo, the gates flung open, and he and the albino were hurled out into the arena. He landed into the sand with an off, curling and clutching his throbbing wrist against his chest. Birkita, however, landed with a nimble, cat-like grace on the balls of her feet, her eyes narrowed and feral, shifting about the brightly lit arena for a threat. She hunched down low on her frame, bending her knees and sinking to a more secure posture as Sheppard scrambled to his own feet and placed his back to hers. The faceless crowd went mad when a voice boomed about the arena, likely advertising their identity and the challenge at hand.

"Any idea what we're up against?" Sheppard whispered over his shoulder to the pale creature as they circled slowly and studiously.

"No." Birkita bristled at Sheppard's back. "Keep your back to me."

A distant part of Sheppard's mind heard not Birkita's soft and youthful, yet dangerously edged voice as she sternly commanded him. Instead, he heard the gruff undertone of Ronon cautioning him. Sheppard nodded and licked his suddenly dry, salty lips. They could do this.

On the far side of the arena stood Sin'ai's private box. As they slowly circled, each nervous, each coursing with adrenaline laced terror, Sheppard caught the noble's cold gaze and glared defiantly. Sin'ai would not hear any threat nor any swear over the din of the multitudes gathered for this bloodthirsty sport, but there could be no mistaking Sheppard's expression as he glared daggers at the man and promised a thousand unspeakable horrors for Sin'ai and his kind if Sheppard ever got loose. Sin'ai merely grinned from ear to ear in macabre glee, reveling in the stark defiance of the Lantean in his hold.

A gate below Sin'ai rattled and bowed under the crushing weight of something. Birkita lowered herself, placing one hand to the fine sand at their feet. Her muscles bulged and rippled with sick, squelching sound as they expanded and contracted beyond normal human development, stretching and tightening to something more akin to the wolf that lurked beneath her human skin. A throaty growl rattled deep in her throat, shifting from a human mock to something more canine by the minute, lowering to a keening tenor. Thick, sharp talons sprouted from her fingers.

Sheppard flinched at the sight oddly, not because he was afraid of the Garou at his back. No, he flinched at the sad realization that, even without weapons, Birkita could never be disarmed. She bore her teeth and talons like any faithful hunting hound, ever ready and eager to rip the throats out of her enemies. She could shift from human to wolf to something oddly in between, depending on her needs. Sheppard, however, remained resolutely human, pallid, weak, and soft compared to the Garou, doubly so when disarmed, and whatever test they were to face here, for the thrill and delight of these crowds had been designed with the Garou in mind, not a simple human, let alone an injured one. It did not bode well in the back of his mind at all.

The gates bowed once more, expanding and buckling outwards before receding once more, as though breathing. Sheppard shuddered at the thought of whatever could make such thick, heavy metal do so a thing, imagining the sheer weight and size of such a beast. It would be large, and it would undoubtedly be deadly.

Sin'ai gestured with his hand, and the far gate slammed open. For a tortuous moment, nothing happened. Sheppard froze, peering into the deep shadows of the tunnel beneath Sin'ai's private box, furrowing his brow. Something had been there, something large. And, now, it was hiding in the shadows. Birkita growled louder now, sprouting fur at the nape of her neck just to have it stand on end. A stillness befell the entire arena as the crowds held their breath and only the growl of Birkita's anger and Sheppard's hammering heart could be heard in the entire pit.

Then, _it _bolted. Sheppard had no name for the thing that came careening out of the darkness at full tilt for them, its wide, tooth-packed mouth gaping widely open as it rushed them. It was something lion like in build, color and furring, only it stood the size of a rhino in Sheppard's opinion, complete with deadly looking horns adorning the top of its head. Long, clawed toes dug into the sand for purchase, driving the thing swiftly across the sands towards them. Sheppard gulped and held his breath as the beast thundered to them, standing his ground as the thing fixed sharp, yellow eyes upon him. It crossed the sand in the span of a single heartbeat, closing the distance between itself and Sheppard, turning its wide jaws to the side to lop the human's head clean off. Its jaws snapped down to crunch through bone, muscle and cartilage in victory.

And it missed by just a hair's breadth as Sheppard threw himself just to the side, slamming into Birkita and pushing her aside as well. It came so close that the thick, coarse hairs of the creature's mane whipped across Sheppard's sunburnt cheek, cutting harshly into the abused skin. He winced when one of those cutting hairs caught the corner of his eye and cut there as well, slashing with a hot oath. In that instant, Sheppard smelt the blood on its lips and tongue, the stink of rotten flesh in its throat. The crowd roared in jubilation and the thrill of such a narrow escape.

Undaunted, the creature swung in a lazy, wide circle, using its long tail as something of a rudder as it moved. Sheppard watched, studying the motion as it came about once more, slamming the ground with its wide, clawed paws. He caught the sight of the muscles bunching and gathering to spring just before the monster leapt, however, this time, Birkita linked her elbow about his and dragging him hard about her and just out of the creature's way. The albino rode the motion out, swinging her talons through the air and to the great beast, but the creature merely skimmed lightly over the sands and just out of her reach.

The beast circled them now, swooping around them in a tight, controlled pattern, herding them with snaps of those large jaws. Ahead, in his private box, Sheppard spied Sin'ai stroking his chin and beaming in a cold pleasure as the crowds went wild, as the beast swatted out at them with wide, clawed paws. Sheppard scowled at the sight and moved before his logical mind could catch up with his seething rage, bolting from Birkita's side and reaching out at the last second to slap the beast on its hind quarters. The monster roared loud enough to rattle the air in the colonel's lungs and gave chase to the far side of the arena.

"SHEPPARD!" Birkita shrieked as she leapt into action behind him.

Sheppard ignored her cries, focusing instead on the tremendous sounds of the awful beast charging behind him. Suddenly, all those morning runs with Ronon seemed so much more valuable than they ever had before with this wild cat on his heels. The beast drew close, so close that Sheppard felt the heat of its breath on the back of his neck. He glanced over his shoulder just in time to spy those snapping jaws coming right for him again before throwing himself to his knees. His legs protesting, but the mighty beast missed him and, carried by its own terrible inertia, rushed right over him. Sheppard immediately climbed to his feet despite his body's protests and ran again.

Birkita swung in easily by his side, running with a grace and ease that certain seemed inhuman, calling in irritation, "Do you even have a plan?"

"Sort of." Sheppard smirked, his eyes fixed on the private booth above the gate. "Can you get me up there?"

Birkita caught sight of what had him so fixed and seemed to understand, moving with him and flowing in stride with him. They ran together in a strange concert, like so many morning runs, matching each other's strides step for step. Sheppard's chest heaved from the effort to run at full tilt across a substrate that clung and pulled at his feet like sand, but he could hardly hear his breaths nor Birkita's as those awful footfalls drew near once more.

It did not matter. They were close now, so very close. Even Sin'ai seemed to know now, rising to his feet at the sight of the mighty cat coming hungrily after those tasty little morsels. Sheppard grinned madly, reaching down to take Birkita's hand and squeezed. The Garou squeezed back. The great beast slobbered behind them, coming close once more for the kill. Birkita slammed down on her feet, digging her heels in and gripping the human by his arm, throwing him into the air with a force that took his breath away as the beast lunged at them. Sheppard scrambled up the smooth metal of the gate, his feet finding purchase on the support frame wherever possible. The beast snarled and swatted her aside, turning after her once more as she sprawled out stilly upon the sand.

"Hey!" Sheppard bellowed, smacking the sheet metal with a heavy thunk against his fist. "Hey, Ugly!"

The beast stopped and turned on a dime, swinging its hindquarters about and snarling in Sheppard's direction before leaping. Sheppard tucked and rolled in midair like a cat to spy his victory expecting the beast landed right in Sin'ai's private box. However, it never did. The creature struck something in midair right at the edge of the arena with a flash of bright purple-blue, before slamming to the ground once more in the pit. Sheppard groaned inwardly, recognizing it as a forcefield of some kind; he should have known.

He did not have the time to lament such mistakes as the beast shook off the blow and came for him. Sheppard turned, clawing at the sand to get to his feet and run once more, yet the beast caught him first. That awful mouth clamped down on Sheppard's ankle, eliciting a howl from the colonel of agony as those sharp teeth pierced the flesh of his leg. The creature dragged him back and away from the wall, snarling as it did, clearly enraged from the blow dealt by the force field. The beast drew back, pulling him close until the monster towered over him.

The beast slammed a clawed paw down on Sheppard's shoulder to pin it down before loosing its hold on the man's mangled ankle. It leaned over him, breathing heavily and hotly in Sheppard's face. The colonel winced, pressing deeper into the sand beneath the monster as the audience thundered about. It reared back for but a moment before descending to lop his head off.

However, at the last second, she came from nowhere in her half skin, more wolf than woman. Birkita. She lunged out, her own pointed snout crashing down on the beast's nose and pulling downward like a prizewinning bulldog, while her claws slashed out through the air. Those curled talons found their mark easily, digging mercilessly into the beast's face and ripping the tender skin apart. Sheppard collected a fistful of sand in each hand and hurled it upwards, directly into those wide, golden eyes. The crowds went wild, as did the monster, jumping back and shaking its massive head, knocking Birkita off. It shook its head and staggered blindly forward after its lost quarry. Sheppard scrambled back, dragging his ankle behind him, coming once more to Birkita's side as the albino stood proudly. He curled an arm about her lanky, pale and furred leg as the beast ran close and snapped, but missed them by a clear meter as it careened on its blind course.

The beast swung about on lumbering limbs, struggling as it did and charging with an ungainly stride. It lowered that wide horn now, intent on skewering them or just crushing these little whelps that had dared blind it. Sheppard tensed, gripping Birkita's ankle, but the albino stood her ground as the creature came close. However, at the last second, she moved, ducking to the side easily as the creature charged past and slammed directly into the stone wall at full tilt, knocking its self out cold and flopping to its side to lie still. Sheppard could not help but chuckle, even under Sin'ai's scowl and the cheers of the crowd.

xxxx

"Ow!" Sheppard whined plaintively, wincing as Birkita tightened the bandage about his ankle, eliciting a sharp hiss of pain. "Easy on the goods there."

Birkita flashed him a quick, mocking glare before returning to her ministrations. They had been taken down to cages by the Wraith after their match with the.... whatever it was. Once they were locked in a large, sprawling cell behind thick, sturdy bars, the Wraith had tossed them their reward - a flask of what appeared a strong alcohol that curled Sheppard's nose hairs along with a sack of some sort of dried meat. She had torn the lower part of her shift dress into long, silken strips to bind his wound, clicking her teeth at the sight before setting to work cleaning the gashes with the stinging alcohol and swaddling the leg in silk.

Sheppard reclined back against the cool wall of the cell, gazing upwards to the thick stonework overhead. He listened half-heartedly to the sounds overhead, the snarls and snaps of the Garou in the pit above them to the roaring adoration of Sin'ai's faithful attendees. They were fighting, even now, to the thrill of the crowds. Sheppard's stomach flopped at the thought, but he swallowed his discomfort when Birkita's nimble hands pulled too tightly on the silk once more, sending his face scrunching into a tight grimace.

"You whine like such a little puppy," Birkita playfully sniped at him, smirking as she tied off the last wrap. "There. Done."

Sheppard surveyed her work and nodded appreciatively. "Good job."

Birkita shrugged, a strangely wistful look to her eyes. "When you live with someone like Weylin, you learn to patch people up in a pinch."

"Fighter, not a lover, I take it," Sheppard teased.

Birkita shot him a dangerous look, one of threat should he not tread carefully with his next words before softening. "Weylin is the Teeth." The cheers rose to new heights, indicating a triumph of some kind, and she gave another shrug of her narrow shoulders, shaking her head and muttering, "It isn't exactly a job that comes with a health plan."

Sheppard would have pressed further, but the losers were already filing downstairs now. Birkita leapt to her feet, dropping Sheppard's ankle from her lap to face her kin. Her eyes were wide with concern and fright as they stumbled and staggered along, each bearing at the absolute least a small cut or slash upon them, some with worse. They were sullen and beaten, but each of them came and heaved themselves to their own corners of the cell.

Lastly, he came, the victor. A towering Garou, nearly the size and breadth of Weylin, well muscled and toned. Sheppard vaguely recognized him from the fighting pit and the cells. A creature that had lingered hungrily in Weylin's shadow, perhaps the second in command or maybe the beta wolf if the social pecking orders of the Garou were anything like their cousins. He looked less like a biker as Weylin had and more like a Viking, tall and proud. He had long, blonde hair plaited back into several neat braids, each bearing a bit of teeth, fur or feather braided into them as though trophies. He bore not a single scratch or scrape upon him, clutching a few plump hares by their hind legs, clearly the victor in the pits.

The newcomer paused at Birkita, his eyes dark as he dripped his head to the albino; she stiffened and greeted him, "Ar'kahl."

"Lady Birkita," the Viking crooned back, fixing her in his sights.

Birkita did not move, did not flinch until Ar'kahl slunk to the far reaches of the cell to sink his decidedly human teeth into the soft, tender flesh of one of the hares in his hands. Only then did she slowly sink to a crouch. However, the albino never tore her frozen gaze from the Garou who had addressed her.

Sheppard waited for a moment before daring to ask, "He going to be a problem?"

"Not for you."

The colonel furrowed his brow as Ar'kahl ate his fill of hare before tearing the rest of them into small chunks and tossing them to the other combatants who had survived their night in the pit; he broached the question, "Who is he a problem for?"

Birkita sniffed hotly. "Any male who stands in his way."

xxxx

The Garou slumbered through the day, but, in the mid afternoon, they began to stir, the barely audible sounds of their movements rousing Sheppard from his own fitful sleep. He did not dare move, and, instead, the colonel cracked a wary eye open to survey the situation before moving. He had fallen asleep on the floor of the cell beside Birkita, separated by a chaste distance of nearly a half-foot. She moved before he did, slowing sitting upright and gesturing with a feigned stretch for him to stay put.

He rolled over to see what all the fuss was about, pretending to rub to the sleep from his eyes. The Garou moved about restlessly, stalking the cell and snipping at one another. Each displayed in their own way to one another, each flexing their muscles and curling their lips to bare their pointed teeth as fur emerged from their skin to line the napes of their necks and trail down their spine, conforming to their skin and flowing over their muscles. Long talons extended from their fingers, each twitching as though itching for battle. Sheppard frowned, watching curiously as the Garou drew close to one another, sizing each other up. They growled and rumbled at one another, the tension mounting as they would close and recede once more. Ar'kahl did not join in these more overt shows, preferring instead to lean against the wall in a far corner and watch as the others eased into the swirl of calm, lazy circles.

"Birkita...." Sheppard whispered fearfully as he sat up.

She held up a hand, both silencing and stilling Sheppard, but, suddenly, it was over. The Garou took back their human skin and retreated once more to the the walls of the cell, calming and stilling. Birkita did not. She kept her silent, uneasy vigil. Unnerved by the scene and by the albino's silence, by the taut tension in her back and down her muscles, Sheppard did not rest further, passing the time and distracting himself by chewing on a hard piece of dried jerky.

As the sun set and twilight settled, Sheppard and the Garou pricked their ears to the sounds of many feet and rising voices. However, while the human stared upwards in awe and horror for a few minutes, the Garou shrugged it off to rise and stretch their long, lean bodies in preparation for the pit once more.

However, before the Wraith came, first Turali Sin'ai came, clad in rich, hunter green brocade robes lined in elegant curls of golden embroidery in ivy tendrils that snaked up the the cuffs and about the collar. His quite obviously expensive, tailored, leather shoes clipped along the stone corridors, heralding his presence. His hair was slicked back into a nearly pretentious coif, which he calmly smoothed over with a hand ornamented by rich, shining rings. Birkita stood to meet him beyond the bars, glaring, yet her defiance served only to garner a thin smile from the nobleman.

"And did you enjoy your taste of the pits?" Turali Sin'ai purred at the albino.

Birkita said nothing, but Sheppard saw her tighten her fists.

Sin'ai glanced to the colonel. "Was it worth it? This defiance of yours?"

Again, Birkita bit her lip.

"Are you ready to give up this foolishness and come back to my side?"

Birkita turned her face away, but Sheppard could see the shame and self-loathing written plainly upon her delicate features. A faint rosiness colored her cheeks, hot and flushed. But, still, Birkita held her tongue.

Sin'ai turned his attention to Sheppard now, clucking his teeth at the stained bandages. "That's a nasty little scratch you have there. You'd best take care to treat it properly and rest the leg..." Sin'ai paused, stroking his chin, measuring his words to ensure a maximum impact as he watched Birkita's muscles tighten once more beneath the thin silk shift. "Otherwise infection could set in, and you could be too weak to stand your place in the pit."

"Sonovabitch," Sheppard swore under his breath.

Sin'ai, however, ignored him to give a poised wave and fond farewell to Birkita. "Until tomorrow, Lady." He doffed an imaginary hat. "Enjoy the pit."

Sheppard watched the noble depart as the guards came to herd the fighters up once more to the tunnels below the pits. Once there, they waited while the world thundered above and around them. A thousand voices cried up into the night to the beat of the drums and the fanfare all about, yet Sheppard heard none of it. He heard only the musical hum of electric charge running through his nerves as his body dumped massive doses of adrenaline into his veins, heightening his senses and awareness but honing it done to one thing. Birkita.

He put a hand to Birkita, touching her shoulder gently to offer her some small words of encouragement no matter how pointless it may have been, but she shrugged it off easily. They had no time for petty sentiment and worry, no place nor moment for concern and heart-to-hearts, not in these simple breaths before the blood and horror could unfold before them once more. The gates open, and they were flung into the pits to fight for their lives.

The crowd roared and shrieked in delight, but the Lantean ignored the chaos about them, focusing instead on the pit and the Garou at his side. Sheppard moved in time with Birkita. He skimmed over the sand with her, mimicking her motions. It was a dance, something of a medieval waltz. They circled, their backs touching every so slightly, shoulder blades occasionally brushing against one another, ready even before another of the rhino-cats rushed them.

This time, it was easier now that John knew their weakness, even with his injured leg and mangled wrist. The rhino-cats - as the Lantean had dubbed them - were large, mighty creatures of power, strength and speed, yes; in fact, it was likely those qualities that had brought them to the arena in the first place, making for great entertainment. However, Sheppard recognized now that they were great, big, stupid creatures at the heart of it. They were easily goaded to blind, unthinking rage by taunts and slaps, and they relied too heavily upon their eyesight, of which there was a gaping blindspot right before their curved horn. Once Sheppard saw these flaws, they were all too easy to exploit. All he and Birkita needed to do was piss the rhino-cats off, blind them with either the pit sand or Birkita's claws, and, then, either slowly whittle them down or lure them into running headfirst into a wall once more. Simple, really, if it were not for the fact that a two ton beast with the heart and temper of a predator was an unpredictable thing at best, and each time they left the arena victorious, Sheppard counted his lucky stars that they lived still.

The pair fell into an uneasy symphony as five days bled into one another, and, oddly, it felt like days long past when Ronon had first come to Atlantis. The simple comfort and trust in battle. The curt abruptness to Birkita that mirrored Ronon's cold distance upon his first arrival, broken by the occasional jest or tease that left Sheppard wondering where exactly they stood. It felt almost enough to be slightly comforted.

They slept in the mornings and long days before waking to the grim posturing of the male Garou threatening one another and snapping like wolves without an alpha. In the twilight, Turali Sin'ai returned with his softly spoken offers to Birkita, only to be turned away in silence. And, when night fell fully, it was back to the pit to fight another of the rhino-cats and earn another meager meal of dried jerky, just enough food to really keep most of the hunger pangs at bay while the rest of Sheppard's appetite turned when the Garou would come back from their fight and feast upon the scraps Ar'kahl's spoils.

The afternoons, however, were the worst. The Garou grew increasing restless with each day, snapping in irritation at one another. The Garou looked to Birkita with respect and awe, bowing their heads in her presence, while the weaker wolves and obvious losers stole hungry glances in Sheppard's direction on the occasion. The Garou stalked one another in both human skin and wolf pelt, eyeing one another and sparking small spats here and there. Once or twice, Sheppard had nearly been pulled into the fray, but all it took was a stern glare from Birkita to stop the males dead in their tracks.

Sheppard did not say a word about it for a few days, but, when the wolves began to schism into two folds, he had to ask, "What are they doing?"

"Politicking."

John watched the spanning schism with renewed interest, spending the next few days studying the others and keeping careful mental notes as Ar'kahl drew several of the Garou close to him, amassing a following of the older werewolves damned near immediately. Among them was Cieros, another of the monster-sized two-natured, truly only identifiable from Ar'kahl in his wolf skin due to a small peppering of starry spots across Cieros's flanks from previous battle scars. There was Lishen, Mirkir, and Hubris (who, admittedly, left John wondering what sort of sadistic parents would saddle their progeny with such a name) who tended to slink together in the shadows and move as one. Tanik almost vaguely reminded Sheppard of Tea'lc in both stature as his quiet, composed manners, like the warrior poets of cold. The Garou Ar'kahl surrounded himself with were covered in the scars of old, all battle hardened on both two legs and four, usually the last the return from the pit, and all in peak fighting condition. John dubbed this contingent the "Old Guard.'

And, then, there was Nix and the younger, weaker wolves. Nix was a smaller creature that Ar'kahl in both human and wolf skin. He had dappled brown spotting down his sides in his pelt and am obnoxious, laughing bark, more hyena than a wolf. Even in his human skin, Nix still held wilderness in eye shrouded behind a veil of moppish hair at the top of his head and tanned freckles down his arms like his spots, like something that had stepped right off the African savannah. Nix held sway with the younger Garou and those less successful in the pits, those more likely to loath Ar'kahl. Nix seemed to enjoy nothing more than antagonizing Ar'kahl and his camp. A rebel in the making with his own ragtag band of followers. The smartass in John dubbed these Garou the "Orphans," waiting for one of them to burst out shouting, "That's what you get for messing with the Orphans!"

In between, in the decidedly uncomfortable no man's land, stood Sheppard, handful of undecided Garou, and Birkita. Yet both Ar'kahl and Nix could often be seen with the Garou that had not yet taken a side, whispering into their ears soft utterances not meant for Sheppard's human ears as each tried to gain sway with the stragglers, their ignoring of the colonel clearly illustrating how little they cared for his involvement in their affairs, or his presence in general. They were each building an army against the other. There was only so much time before Nix and Ar'kahl went to blows, and John knew it. He just hoped he wasn't caught in the middle of the two Garou when they finally decided to hold aggressive negotiations between their two factions in this makeshift pack.

Birkita's place, however, Sheppard understood less and less. She held herself aloof and above them, even when she lifted her skirt and squatted in one of the few buckets intended for such things. The Garou gave her their respect in their own ways, even down to averting their gaze for her privacy - a luxury that had not been granted to Sheppard - who the Garou insisted on referring to as the Meat Boy and Fresh Meat. They bowed to her, when they seemed unlikely to bow to anyone. While Nix and Ar'kahl seemed content to watch the spats erupting among their kind, under Birkita's cold gaze and with a single, solemn shake of her head, they withdrew their supporters instantly, as though heeding her law even now. Sheppard shuddered at what that might mean exactly.

xxxx

Teyla and Rodney spent two painfully dull yet tense weeks holed up in the half-way house in the center of Haltrice, waiting for any word from Atlantis. Teyla knew this because she had counted the days with Rodney's increasing nerves and irritability. She loved Rodney, yes, as a brother, but even the calm, composed Teyla had to admit that there were days such as these that she needed a bit of a breather from the brilliant man. She meditated to ignore his flustered antics at their housing -which Teyla found to be downright opulent compared to the best lodging the Athosians could offer any outworlder visitors - and horrifying hypotheticals of all sorts of terrible fates that could have befallen Sheppard and Birkita. No amount of reassurance that the colonel had likely chosen another of the alpha sites or allied trade worlds to hide could stem his worry.

Teyla spent much of those two weeks walking. Haltrice was a lovely city, with many cobbled drives that rose and fell in gentle, rolling crests, shared rather evenly between pedestrians, carriages, and odd, man-powered vehicles that Rodney had said were like "bikes" and "pennyfarthings" but failed to explain further. Haltrice, despite its size and boasted population, was a safe place with an organized and well operated police and populated by people who would never dare turn the Lanteans over to the hands of Turali Sin'ai or his ilk. She would walk for hours, perusing the small stands and shops towards the center of town, or pausing to reflect in one of the quaint gardens by the older homes to the exterior.

That day, she sat on a bench across from a wide lake where white birds glided effortlessly across the water with the same grace as the twittering Inoran ladies in their tight corsets and bustled skirts. Weylin slumped to the ground beside her with a huff. The Garou had stayed in his dark wolf pelt all these long weeks, growing more and more agitated by the day. The Garou did not tarry long alone with Rodney, likely irritated by the physicist's overwhelming fear. He often walked with her, striding smoothly at her side, darting wary glances this way and that at the Inorans. The Garou held no trust for these people, no like, keeping them at a distance with the tiniest flex of his claws or rise of his lip.

"Shh...." Teyla crooned, stroking down the ebony fur ridged along his spine. "They will not harm you." Weylin seemed to roll his great, shining golden eyes as a passerby cocked and eyebrow to the woman speaking so softly and almost intimately to a beast such as the Garou, but Teyla went on. "The Inorans have been allies of Atlantis and of my people, the Athosians, for many years. They hold their honesty and honor quite highly."

Weylin yawned, perhaps in earnest or perhaps in jest, slumping down to lie flat at her feet. Teyla suppressed a giggle at human the Garou could seem. She could almost imagine Rodney doing the same thing in Weylin's place, but, then again, Rodney never held much interest in listening to the histories of different people or paying any mind to their individual cultures unless it would yield new scientific discovery.

Teyla's hand stilled on the nape of his neck. The Garou looked up to her expectantly almost, his golden eyes shining in the bright afternoon sun. He captured her there, in those wide, wild depths that flickered with metallic sheen. She held her breath, wanting to say something, say anything, perhaps wanting the man inside the wolf to say something back, maybe even reassure her that John was just as safe with his Lady as she was with him.

However, a sudden uproar shattered whatever spell had befallen them when the town's bell chimed with thunderous tones. The town's people bustled, children racing through the streets with wide grins on their face. Even Weylin jumped to his feet at the sudden sound, yipping in surprise and confusion at the sudden flurry of activity. Teyla did not, for she knew what that bell meant. The Lanteans had returned, and she, Rodney, and Weylin were going home.

xxxx

That night, there was no tourney, no battles, no cheering crowds. There was only a near supernatural stillness to the arena after days of Sin'ai's revelries. Sheppard did not like it, nor the electric tension to the air, a sizzle and snap that alighted among the Garou. The world slowed for them, revolving about a slow, languid circle in time with the Garou's steps as they paced as one, roiling pack. When Sin'ai's men came for them that night, there was nothing in the pit to await them save the radiant white culling beam of a Wraith dart.

Another world awaited beyond, along with another fighting pit.

**XXX**

**XXXXX**

**XXX**

**Author's Notes : **Yes, I've been a very bad girl, and it has been an exceptionally long time since updating. I've been having some ADD moments over the last few months, and sadly a few of my series fics have suffered for it. Hope you enjoyed another rousing installment, though. And a thousand apologies for how long it had taken me to update! And a thousand more apologies that this is less of an action-y chapter and more of a.... well.... I don't know what. And, sorry if it sucks (*I've had a really long week starting with a lab exam in invert. zoology and ending with my mum landing herself in the ICU) Sorry, sorry, sorry!


	16. Pas de Deux

**FEAST OF THE SAMHAIN - PAS DE DEUX**

Rodney McKay hid himself in his lab after the Ronon and the Garou left for Earth, at first merely to accommodate the mound of work that had built up during the distracting few weeks after Sheppard's return. The position of Chief Science Officer on Atlantis was not without a due measure of the sort of bureaucratic annoyance that the American military seemed to thrive upon. Every off-world expedition yielded new discoveries and new technologies to be analyzed, documented, and catalogued for further study, all of which required his sign off. Daily logs and analysis of the city's major functions demanded his approval, as resident expert of Ancient technology, if only to prevent the Lanteans from blowing themselves up. And, of course, every time some hapless member of the expedition located some dangerous artifact in the city - more often by accidental injury than not - it was up to Rodney to write up the incident reports and establish measures to prevent further such accidents.

With the veritable stack of paperwork awaiting him, it was easy to believe that this was the only reason, however, once that mess had been dealt with, Rodney found his excuses evaporating before him. The lab assistants and other researchers kept his work to a minimum, filing much of their paperwork themselves. Rodney knew it was likely at Radek's behest, the sly Czech, but he knew just as well that neither he nor Radek would ever dare admit that.

As each day wore on, it became increasingly obvious he was avoiding. What he was avoiding - Rodney himself could only guess. He preferred to suppose it was those insufferable lab rats, moronic, sniveling little children playing scientist in the shadow of his greatness, only to end up getting themselves into more trouble than they were worth. However, McKay knew that wasn't the case no matter how he wished it. Perhaps it was Keller, who radiated such soft, maternal concern that it suffocated him. Or, perhaps it was Teyla, whose quiet repose seemed so very distant and cold, now, as though a great chasm had built between them. It had been Sheppard and no one else who had brought them close, and, without the colonel, Rodney's friendship with Teyla fluctuated by the day. When he touched the lines of thick scarring marring his cheek, Rodney often liked to think it was simply because he did not to be looked upon for his disfigurement. Whatever it was, the eerie sensation held Rodney by a tight, constricting grip on his heart, keeping his hostage in the labs.

It was not until Teyla came to him, however, that it ever occurred to Rodney what exactly the problem might honestly be. She arrived in the morning, likely after dropping off Torren John with the other Athosian children for study and play. She moved silently, just appearing in the door frame to his lab and lingering there soundlessly, but Rodney knew her presence if only by the slight, tickling scent of something akin to lavender and smoky spice. It was a calming incense, one Teyla burned only when truly worried, one she had often offered to Rodney.

"You can come in- you do know that, right?" he muttered under his breath, hardly sparing a second to look up from his work.

"I know, Rodney," Teyla murmured with gentle assurance.

He paused, setting his tools down but not turning to face her. "You've been scarce as of late."

It was not truly an accusation, but a mere statement of fact, one which Teyla could not deny. She had kept to herself in the last few weeks, indeed. She had locked herself in for quiet contemplation and meditation, in unsuccessful search of some tiny scrap peace of mind, the same peace of mind Rodney had vainly sought so desperately in the confines of his own labs.

"Do you think we have done the..._right _thing?" she finally inquired.

Rodney cocked a brow. "Hrm?"

"Sending John back?" Teyla offered in a flat tone.

Rodney froze, going rigid and stiff. "As I recall, I made it perfectly clear that I _never _thought it was a good idea."

"Surely, he can receive more structured care both physically and mentally there," Teyla admitted in monotone, shaking her head as though aware of how pathetic the argument came out.

"I never said he wouldn't, either," Rodney fumed. "But this is our home. His home."

Teyla nodded slowly to herself before adding softly and perhaps a tad insistently, "And we are his family."

Rodney turned slowly in his chair, finally facing the Athosian, his head cocked to the side in intrigue. He had been expecting a sadness to her eyes, judging by the solemnity to her voice. However, upon seeing her, Rodney saw quite the opposite. There was a quiet determination to her expression, a tension to her body, the tightness of a coiled spring.

"What are you thinking?" he eventually posed to her.

"I am thinking that..." Teyla swallowed and inclined her head ever so slightly to the side. "That John and Ronon are our family."

"And....?"

Teyla smiled elegantly in a small curl of her pert lips. "That you are hurting as much as I, aching to know what is happening, to be close to our friends once more. That they should not be alone through this." She held her breath for but the tiniest of pauses before turning and slinking out. "That our family should be together once more."

xxxx

General O'Neill watched them for some time, transfixed by the grand horror of it all. The wolves, those skulking, lurking beasts with their shaggy fur and gaping, toothy maws, worried him, but not nearly as much as their number. So many of them. Thousands, pouring into the road leading to the North Portal, will many more still on their up the mountains, and who knew how many more behind them. They were an army, these creatures of two natures, two shapes, an army that could hide perfectly within the American public. Their second nature did not frighten O'Neill nearly as much as their numbers.

_'Christ, how many of them are there?' _O'Neill asked himself, surveying the growing mob.

Suddenly, as O'Neill swept his binoculars over the crowd, a face popped out at him, one he knew too well from the last strange week, and O'Neill's blood ran cold at the sight of him. Nodonn Cole. He had only seen the man less than twenty four hours earlier, still dressed in the same clothes he had fled the SGC in for his "r&r." The captain walked at a brisk pace, but as a free man, unlike the soldiers on their knees and at the Garou's mercy. Cole even moved at the side of another, a tall, strong man with rich, red hair, a leader barking orders left and right.

"Damnit," O'Neill growled.

For a sickening, lurching moment, O'Neill felt his heart leap into his throat at the thought as Cole smiled at his kin, at the Garou circling about him and coming for counsel. His mind reeled, pondering instantly if Nodonn Cole could conceal his true nature for so long and under such scrutiny as the SGC, how many more were lurking in plain sight? How many more Garou were in the ranks of the SGC, just waiting to turn their pale, ivory teeth on the humans who had dared think themselves the masters?

No. Just as quickly as the thought sparked, bubbling up with an uncomfortable uncertainty, O'Neill crushed it down. These were _his _men still, either original members of the SGC from the inaugural Stargate expeditions or all hand selected with his input, Nodonn Cole included. If so many could so easily hide in plain sight, it was little wonder one slipped through security screenings for the SGC, the laws of averages, really. It was unlikely _two _were among his men, and, if more Garou had infiltrated Cheyenne Mountain.... well... there was little that could be done about that now.

O'Neill stuffed his hands into his pockets to kept from fidgeting, only to find something in there. Surprised, Jack pulled out a bit of paper. The note from Cole intended for Lady Birkita. He furrowed his brow but opened the letter.

_When the time comes - Nodonn Cole of the Caddo. _

Below that, was a phone number.

xxxx

They came well into the midday, slowly trickling their way up the mountain roads to the steadily swelling army. They came from all walks of life and all tribes, spanning the entire continent and some beyond, bearing both wolf pelt and human skin, slinking along the mountain towards the growing mob. They answered Alain's call with howl and e-mail alike, unable to resist by honor and by law, each catching and passing the message along. By noon, the Garou easily numbered over fifteen thousand strong, still a paltry force by compare to the weapons technology and entrenchment of the SGC.

Never had there been such a gathering before, nor would there be again, not of such size nor spanning so many individual packs and tribes of Garou. They were a secretive species as a whole, having learnt to guard there true nature closely. There had once been a time, centuries before, when Garou tread faithfully and openly at humanity's side, as equals or perhaps betters, but that had been ages ago, long before humans proved themselves as nothing but weak, fearful, and covetous creatures. Before that day, the humans only knew the Garou from movies and books, thinking them nothing but fictitious, mindless killing machines thanks mainly to the 1950s. The Garou were a well kept secret, once which they dare not risk again by gathering in such great numbers.

Nodonn Cole watched as they gathered, a shiver rolling down his spine. Each pack had brought their leaders and their Teeth, hulking Garou proven in muscle, fang, and cunning against their own kind. They preened and growled, baring human teeth, wolf fang, and sharpened blade to any who dared draw too near. Nodonn did not like this, being so close to so many enforcers, for that was the place of the Teeth. When the time came, it would be the Teeth they sent to battle, the first line of offense for the Garou, and their station demanded they show no mercy to any who dared cross their kind. Those few, those proud Teeth would fight until the end, to the death of the very last one standing if the needs be. That was the law, ancient and true, the laws the Teeth upheld.

The packmasters stepped forward in their due turn to beg audience with Alain in turn. They came to share news of the spreading word that the Anput had been found after so many long years in her absence, to boast their numbers, and seek any instructions. For each, Nodonn stepped back out of manners but lingered. He was no Teeth nor leader; he held about as much sway and authority within the packs as he did in the military. However, each of those visiting packmasters wished to speak with him directly, to hear his account of the Lady Birkita's return. Nodonn Cole was no politician as Alain, and, as such, it was an exhausting exercise with each passing representative.

Nodonn Cole was standing aside for Sigurn Northman of the Fenrisulfr when he cellphone rang trill-ly in his pocket. Nodonn shrugged off his fugue to take the device out and spy an unlisted number. He thought little of it. His phone had been ringing all morning, his and Alain's, each call heralding the arrival of another pack eager to place their allegiance before Alain to their Anput.

Still, Nodonn answered it with the cold distance befitting a soldier readying for way. "Cole."

The voice that barked through the phone was angry, bitter, defiant, and unmistakably belonging to Jack O'Neill. "You have a lot of explaining to do, captain."

Cole stiffened, feeling the muscles tighten down at the base of his spine. "Sir?"

"Don't 'sir' me, captain," the general clipped brusquely. "I want you to release those soldiers."

Nodonn winced, glancing to Alain and answering,"Sir, I'm afraid I don't have the authority to do that."

"Then let me speak to whoever the hell does."

Nodonn flinched again but took the phone and covered it with his palm. He slide easily through the small group centered about Alain, the unofficial leader of this army. His authority had yet to be questioned, and, even it it were, Nodonn felt certain the cunning Garou would send all his opponents off licking their wounds for days. Alain had earned his place in their dark world with his teeth by the old laws. If anyone had the right to speak for the Garou as a whole, it was Alain.

Alain took the phone and furrowed his brow in unspoken question, to which Nodonn explained, "General O'Neill."

Alain gave a curt nod and answered briskly, "Babineaux speaking."

Nodonn pricked his ears to the sound of O'Neill on the phone, despite how inappropriate the eavesdropping. "I understand you're the man to talk to about getting my men set free."

"I am," Alain smoothly crooned, maddeningly cryptically waiting for the human.

O'Neill growled in response, quietly fuming. "What do you want?"

"I want any and all Garou in your custody released. But, if the needs be, we can secure that ourselves." With that, Alain succinctly hung up the phone, tossed it back to Nodonn, and breathed, "Tonight."

xxxx

_Six Years Earlier :_

Evan Lorne's heart thrilled when the Inoran locals informed his team that Lanteans had showed up in Haltrice in need of lodging. However, when only Teyla and Rodney came walking down the path from Haltrice to the gate with a monstrous, shaggy black, dog-like creature sulking along at their heels, he felt his heart fall. He had been rather expecting to find his commanding officer among them. Yet Teyla's quiet repose and McKay's sullen expression suggested otherwise.

He dared ask. "Sheppard?"

Teyla shook her head slowly, the poised motion of a dignitary. "Captured. I am quite sorry."

Lorne took a step forward to close the distance between them, and the wolf moved. The came as a lightning quick blur as the ebony creature bolted. It threw its self between the two wayward Lanteans and the away team, baring its long teeth and growling menacingly.

"Whoa, whoa!" Lorne jumped back, raising his firearm. "Friend of yours?"

Teyla's brow gathered and her lips pursed together in a condescending frown as she addressed the beast, snapping curtly, "Weylin! Peace! This is Major Lorne. He is an ally and friend!"

The wolf took one questioning look of Teyla before standing down, lowering its head and slinking forward to tentatively sniff Lorne. Evan stiffened, mostly in fright as the creature drew close. There was something electric to the way it moved, something sinfully elegant and smooth, as though the creature insinuated itself towards him. The black muzzle nudged gently against him as this Weylin took in his scent before backing off and returning to Teyla's side once more.

"See?" Teyla offered sweetly to the canine. "He is safe."

Lorne glanced to Rodney, who merely stuffed his hands in his pockets and shrugged. "Don't ask."

Lorne said nothing more. He had a job to do in getting these little lost lambs home, regardless of whatever strays they might have picked up in their travels. Lorne dialed up Atlantis, punched his GDO code, and waited for word that the shield had been dropped for them. The wolf whined at Teyla but followed her through the Stargate, stepping neatly at her side through to Atlantis before Lorne could argue otherwise. He sighed and followed the Athosian through the glittering event horizon, intending to have a rather pointed discussion about the wild creature, but, when he flashed into existence in Atlantis, there was no wolf by her side. In the beast's place, there was a man, tall, nude, muscular, and quite chiseled.

Lorne blinked, astonished, but Rodney merely clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You'll get used to it."

xxxx

Blinding white light evaporated about Sheppard, spilling him out sprawling onto the ground amidst the Garou in a jumbled heap in a dim, watery light. He rolled to the side and lurched upwards, staggering to his feet to survey this new world they had been dumped onto, his body protesting the sudden moment. The Garou scrambled to their feet equally as swiftly, circling and spreading ever so slightly but keeping to a tightly knit pack.

Sheppard's feet slipped as he rose to better orient himself, sliding in something soppy, wet, and clinging, while heavy droplets pelted down from above. He frowned at the offending substance; mud. It seemed to catch and drag him down by the ankles with each moment, sticking to his skin wherever it touched. The torrential down pour, however, mercifully washed it swiftly away as chilling sheets slammed down into the captive in yet another wide albeit swampy arena.

He had no more time to get a better grip on this world as Sin'ai's guards encircled them and herded them down into the catacombs.

xxxx

While Evan Lorne and not seen the near mythic transformation of the wolf to this nude human, Richard Woolsey had borne witness to it, standing in transfixed horror as the slender, ebony jointed appendages snapped and popped into something more human. He had watched the grotesque sight as muscles reshaped to conform to something less intended for stalking the night, as fur withdrew to linger beneath the skin of the man, soft flesh that had never before seemed so malleable to him. Woolsey held his breath as Lorne stepped through the gate just in time for the stranger to stand to his full height and stretch his broad shoulders.

Woolsey's heart skipped a beat, and he swallowed hard to realize what had just happened. A Garou. Werewolf. Shapeshifter. Whatever the myths and legends called those dark creatures of the night, one stood there in the gate room, casting suspicious and wary glances to the armed marines. A part of him trembled at the implications of such, while another part sang to know that there stood a potential cure for Ronon's unique affliction in the flesh. Woolsey smoothed his uniform and took a deep breath, steeling himself before descending to the cautious and wired nude in his gateroom to greet the stranger.

"Teyla, McKay, welcome back," Woolsey addressed them before frowning. "Sheppard?" Teyla shook her head, as all the explanation Woolsey needed; finally, he lifted his head to face the werewolf. "Commander Richard Woolsey." He extended a hand for a formal, albeit awkward handshake. "And you are?"

The stranger sniffed proudly. "Weylin Canagan of the Avoyelles."

Woolsey nodded. "Welcome to Atlantis, Mr. Canagan." He gestured to his side. "If you would please come this way. We can get our doctors to check you out and..." Woolsey gave a sheepish sort of smile. "We'll get you some.... clothes."

Weylin gave a tiny bob of his head. "Much obliged."

Weylin followed quietly, striding with confidence down the halls despite his nudity. Woolsey tried not to look, but he did spy a few of the female members of Atlantis's staff getting an eye full of the Garou from the upper levels. Woolsey flushed, as did Teyla and Rodney, but Weylin kept his head high as he followed the commander down the long halls to the infirmary. However, when they reached the doors, Weylin balked, rearing back, his nostrils wide as he caught the scents of the infirmary, sharp talons elongating from what had once been short, blunt, and brittle human fingernails.

Weylin whipped about, his eyes wide and wild as he raged, "What the hell is this?"

"Weylin?" Teyla gasped. "What is wrong?"

Weylin inhaled deeply, tasting the scents about him, closing his eyes as he did; when he opened them to stare at her once more, those eyes were golden and feral. "You have one of my kind." Weylin glared, his pupils dilating and contracting sharply. "I can smell _him._" He splayed his hand out, spreading those talons wide in threat. "Who is he? Where is he?"

"Weylin...." Teyla breathed. "It is... not so simple."

Weylin took a defensively step back, hunching over and lowering his build as his bones snapped and popped to instinctively reform. "What the hell is going on?"

"Weylin...." Teyla paused, biting her tongue and seeking some diplomatic way to explain things to the Garou.

However, fortunately for her, Rodney blurted it out. "He's not one of _your _kind. He's one of _our _kind."

The Garou blinked, dumbfounded. "You're lying." His golden eyes seemed to flare in stubborn defiance. "I can smell him."

"Well, yeah..." Rodney rolled his eyes. "That's because Ronon was bitten by one of _your _kind." The physicist hissed the word with an almost palpable disdain before deflating visibly at the sheer horror written on Weylin's features .

The Garou started whispering solemnly, "A half breed..."

"It's why we went back to the world Sin'ai picked us up on." He sighed as Teyla lowly shook her head at his lack of tact, the color draining from her face. "What?!? One of us should at least be honest with the big bad wolf and tell him the truth now instead of letting him find it out later and _hoping _he doesn't rip ours throats out with those... those.... claws."

Rodney shuddered, but Weylin merely lowered his head, glaring intently at the physicist. "Tell me."

"We went back looking for one of you guys so our docs could maybe make a cure from your blood."

Weylin withdrew his claws and took another great step backward, realization slowly spreading over his chiseled features. "Vortigern..."

"I'm sorry." Rodney flushed in shame, the color flooding to his cheeks, and he looked down, suddenly quite embarrassed by his actions. "I am." He pursed his lips together. "I never, we never, meant for anyone But Ronon needed - still needs a cure. Keller could have used samples from the... from Vortigern for study.

The Garou muttered darkly, "There is no cure. Once bitten, always cursed."

"No, no, hear me out," Rodney argued hastily, gesticulating widely with his hands. "Our other physician, Beckett, made great advancements in the field of genetics studies through the Ancient technologies provided by Atlantis. He even engineered a retrovirus for the Wraith to turn them human."

The Garou shook his head but murmured flatly, "I need to see him. Meet him."

Keller nodded, and Teyla placed a beckoning hand upon his, steering him into the infirmary. Weylin drifted at the Athosian's side, growling low and tensely in the back of his throat, a dim warning of his unease. She and Keller drew him to the back of the infirmary, to isolation and to Ronon. The Satedan glanced at the door as they entire, his nerves still raw from days cooped up in the tiny, cramped room and restrained upon the flat of his back. Ronon jerked at the sudden intrusion and the nude stranger, his nostrils flaring wide at the scent, but Weylin hardly flinched.

"So, you're the half breed?"

Ronon eyed him cautiously. "Maybe."

Weylin gave a quick nod and reached to loose the straps upon the Satedan's wrists. Keller made a quick move to argue, but dual glares from the men stifled any argument in her throat. Neither said a word, but, in reality, neither really had to say a thing. Neither had to as they drank of each others musk with senses of smell to which no human sense could compare. Ronon rubbed his wrists dolefully but nodded gratefully to the Garou.

"I won't like you," the Garou cautioned, leveling a stern gaze upon the Satedan.

"And a friendly hello to you, too," Ronon sneered.

"This.... is weird." Weylin smirked ever so slightly in chagrin before schooling his features back to a dour expression. "My kind are creatures of honor and tradition, living by strict laws set centuries ago." Weylin heaved a sigh. "I should warn you."

"Hmm?" Ronon cocked an eyebrow.

"I am the Teeth, but I exact nothing without my Law." A hint of sadness flickered across the man's dark features. "Without Birkita. The laws of my kind are quite specific when it comes to half breeds, demanding the heads of both the half breed and the wolf that turned on human flesh." He prodded at the ground with his toe and drew a pregnant breath. "So, you're in luck."

Ronon shrugged, awkwardly in a way, perhaps feeling just as unnerved as the younger full blooded Garou seated across from him. "I guess I am lucky, then."

They sat in guarded silence again for a long moment, each waiting for the other to say something, anything. Ronon held his breath. Aside from the Garou that had bitten him and cursed him with a second nature, the Satedan had never been this close to one of those mythic creatures. A wolf. And, yet, there was something so intrinsically human about the man before him with his long, raven black locks, something very solemn and sad about the hunch to his shoulders and the set in his brow.

Finally, Weylin stirred, confessing with a pained tone, "I left her." He ran his fingers through his hair. "Sin'ai has the Lady Birkita and your Sheppard." Ronon bristled at the sound, his muscles visibly tensing; Weylin nodded in quiet appreciation of his own, calculated blow. "He your friend?"

Ronon did not answer at first, weighing his options for answer before settling with the truth. "Friend." He looked down. "I was runner from the Wraith before I came here. Sheppard offered to take me in when no one else would... when no one else should have." Weylin nodded again, bidding the Satedan to go on. "My brother."

Weylin breathed deeply, tasting Atlantis, the saltiness of the sea, the damp mists off the waves, the antiseptic sting of the infirmary, and the subtle musk of the half breed. "You would do anything for your brother, yes?"

"What's it to you?" Ronon barked in irritation.

Weylin's eyes flickered with a feral, golden gleam as they narrowed. "Answer the question. How far would you go for your brother?"

"To the end of the universe..." Ronon paused, contemplating the Stargate and his few, short trips to Earth before amending his statement. "And beyond."

Weylin sat in silence again for some time before breathing, "He is your pack."

Ronon glanced to the Garou, swallowing his surprise. "Yes."

"We are pack creatures by nature." The Garou gave another long nod, clearly stalling. "Birkita... is my only pack now that Vortigern is dead. I have to find her.... as much as you have to find Sheppard. So.... I have an offer to make." He glanced over his shoulder to the doors leading back into the main portion of the infirmary. "These people.... these Lanteans.... they're too soft, too weak. I need another of my kind, of _our _kind, even if you are just a half breed."

"What are you saying?"

"We work together." Weylin licked his lips, flashing teeth too sharp and too pointed to be human. "I need help finding her. You need help finding him." His gaze met Ronon's, stern and unyielding as fur sprouted from his arms, lining him in the faintest shadow of ebony pelt. "The laws of my kind demand your death, but, if you help me, I'll let you live."

Ronon eyed Weylin warily. "Sounds like you're getting the better deal there."

"And...." Weylin conceded, shrugging his shoulders. "And, I'll help your damned docs try to find a cure then, even though there is none."

Ronon extended a hand. "Deal."

Weylin took the Satedan's hand in his, squeezing it firmly and surely. "Sure hope your doc finds a cure then before we find them, then."

"Why's that?"

The Garou shrugged oddly. "Birkita is the Law. She is bound by the laws of our kind to demand your life... and mine for allowing a half breed to live."

xxxx

Bugs. It had to be bugs. Sheppard _hated _bugs.

The colonel trudged beside Birkita, leaning slightly to the side to take the weight off his ankle, clutching his bloodied midsection with a curled arm. His body ached with each passing movement as they slowly descended back to the catacombs to the cheers of the crowds overhead. The sound turned his stomach as he lumbered forward with her, both water and blood dripping from him to the ground in patters.

It had been a gloriously awful spectacle that would have sent even the Roman emperors of old thrilling at the gladiatorial show, even despite the torrential downpour. Thousands had turned out, despite the foul weather, standing out in the pouring rain to cheer on Sin'ai's pets of the pit. The masses had stood out in the rain for hours, ignoring the chill of the air and the dreary dark of night for the best seats, like some rock fans waiting in line for a concert. They had been as raucous and loud as any other audience for Sin'ai's awful sport, lusting for blood even amid the rain, perhaps accustomed to the weather.

Oh, but how awful it had been. Where they had faced rhino-cats on the prior world, Sin'ai had pitted Birkita and Sheppard against bugs, large, foul creatures the size of tanks that chittered and chirped like the Iratus bug. However, these had been nothing like the trim, beetle like creature that had nearly taken Sheppard's life all those years ago. These had been long, large, coiling creatures of many segments, each with two pairs of delicate, pointed legs like oversized centipedes. Their heads had been adorned with snapping mandibles that thundered when they clacked together. There had been three of them, roiling together in a sickly mass of gleaming, green chitinous plates before turning on their prey.

Sheppard had frozen instantly when faced when the bugs. It had been a costly error, but he had snapped to it when the first that came for him nearly cut him in two, ripping a large gash in the colonel's abdomen. While Birkita took her half skin to deal with the other two, Sheppard had struggled with his own quarry before eventually climbing to its slippery back, grabbing those mandibles and ripping them right out. The beast had gone wild, but, by the time Sheppard's centipede fell, Birkita had dispatched her own two.

Once settled back in the dank cell, the Garou looked to the human with fear in her pale, frozen eyes. "This can't go on forever, you know."

"I know," Sheppard breathed, shaking his head in exhaustion. "But, my team, they'll find us. They always do."

Birkita shook her head. "How? Your people didn't even know Sin'ai or my people existed until just a few weeks ago. And we've jumped several planets already. How could they possibly find us now?"

Sheppard tapped his arm. "Subcutaneous transmitter. They just need to get close enough, and they'll pick up my signal."

"And how long will that take?" Birkita argued stubbornly back.

Sheppard winced at the thought as he shifted his weight and slumped against the wall. The Garou had a point. Her kind were built for fighting these beasts. Longer, leaner, with talons and fangs for tearing and rending flesh. They were compact and agile, built for speed. It was only a matter of time before Sin'ai found a creature that Sheppard could not face. And, while they were being fed, Sheppard knew it was not nearly enough to meet the demands of his body. They needed to get out of there, and soon, before Sin'ai pitted them against something the meek little human couldn't handle.

He shook his head and sighed, "Too long, I know."

They said nothing more on the matter that night, nor the next or the one following that as they faced the centipede creatures again and again before Sin'ai ferried them to another world as Sheppard continued to falter in the pit.

xxxx

It had been all too easy for Weylin Canagan of the Avoyelles to sway Ronon Dex to his side. However, it had been less persuasion on Weylin's part that brought Ronon around. It had been simple facts. Ronon might not have _wanted _a cure for the wild abandon the change gave him, nor the unbridled joy that came with running in his wolf pelt in the dark of the night, but, knowing the strength of the Garou personally, he could not leave Sheppard to them. It was true, as Weylin had said. Garou were pack animals, and, in the end, they both needed each other.

Convincing Woolsey and the rest of the Atlantis command proved to be an entirely different story. There were meetings and communiques between Earth and Atlantis in what both Weylin and Ronon saw as nothing more than an irritating waste of time. They bickered with the Atlantis command, arguing that it was their own lives they were risking, no one else's.

In the end, Weylin merely had to make one simple fact clear to Richard Woolsey about the Garou to gain clearance for the his and Ronon's impromptu search and rescue missions. He asked Woolsey to speak in private and said very little, pointing out that the Garou were just not limited to Pegasus. He did not number his kind, but he insinuated enough to suggest an army. The SGC could never be aware of Weylin's origins and neither could the Garou know of Atlantis's failure to allow just two humble wolves to make an attempt to find what seemed to amount in Woolsey's eyes to the Garou equivalent of either the Pope or the Dalai Lama.

Ever the diplomat, Woolsey caved in favor of maintaining positive relations. "I see your point." He leveled a stern gaze upon the Garou. "But, if you plan to use Atlantis for resources, you will operate just like any of the offworld teams. You will report your findings to both myself and Major Lorne, the acting military commander of this base."

Weylin grinned wolfishly from ear to ear. "Fair enough."

xxxx

Sheppard settled on Hilthaeglir for the new world Sin'ai took them. It was a cold, frigid planet, with biting winds that cut through the colonel's BDU's right down tot he bone. However, for once, Sin'ai did not dump them directly into a pit. The dart poured out the Garou in a low, windswept field beside the Stargate. The Gate sat upon a circular, raised dais, like on so many other worlds. Dead, barren trees not unlike birches ringed the field, while distant, towering mountains of rock and ice rose above the lonely forests. Snow covered everything in thick, downy blankets as a blanket as a blizzard swirled about them. Wild winds whipped through the area, blowing drifts across the frozen stone tablet at his feet.

A familiar glittering, blue light bathed them from behind, and, as soon as the colonel realized what it was, he whipped about, nearly pitching over on his throbbing ankle. He squinted against the chunks of heavy snowflakes that stuck and crusted his lashes, peering into the swirling snow for the DHD. Sadly, upon spying it, the gate shut down, deactivated before he could spy the home address for this new world.

The colonel shivered violently as the cold stole his breath away. He stuffed his hands into his armpits, hugging himself for warmth. However, the other captives hardly seemed to notice. The Garou instantly began to grow out tufts of thick, wooly fur, their winter pelts. Some merely allowed the snow to dust their skin and hair, as though welcoming the cold. Sheppard immediately dubbed the slaves that did not grow out their fur either stupid or masochistic - or both.

The gate engaged once more, activated by the Wraith dart, which plunged right back into the shimmering pool of the event horizon. Sheppard, for once, did not blame the Wraith for ducking out of as bad of weather as this. Even for all his brazen defiance of orders, Sheppard was no idiot and did not often chance as exceptionally foul weather as a blizzard. That did not stop Sheppard from cursing the Wraith for dialing out from the dart, where he would never see the address to this world.

At the base of the Gate dais, snaked a train of elaborate, plush carriages with almost rococo detailing in garish gold, as well as strings of strange, massive, horse-like creatures covered in their own heavy furry, with fetlocks down their faces. Their ebony fur ran down their elegantly sculpted faces between two curling and dangerously pointed horns atop their heads, splaying out in thick feathering between claws where hooves should have been. Several were hitched to the lavish carriages, chewing on the bits and pawing impatiently at the snow beneath their feet. In each of the carriages, Sheppard spied what appeared several cozy nobles and gentry, each in cloaks that were lined in a soft furring. All about them stood guards in bulky, warm clothes, all of it suggesting this to be a world of cold and ice.

He fumed with jealousy and jammed his fingers deeper into his armpits. They looked so warm, so snug and comfortable, laughing and waving as Turali Sin'ai joined them. Sheppard scowled deeply as a fresh wave of shivers rocked his body and sent fresh agony through him.

The albino must have noticed. Birkita leaned close to him and put a furred arm about him, drawing the colonel close. Sheppard blinked in surprise at the instinctive tenderness to the Garou but gratefully accepted it. The pale pelt tickled his gooseflesh pimpled skin, imparting a small measure of warmth, but only a tiny bit. It would have to do in those howling, driving winds. She held him as they staggered forward, leaning into the wind to draw near the windbreak created by the line of carriages.

Sin'ai peered at them through one of the frosted windows of the carriages. He smiled, practically beaming from the carriage at the albino and her companion. Sheppard's teeth were clenched too tightly against chattered to muster any sort of insult, and, so, he settled for giving the nobleman the finger. Sin'ai grinned madly in return as his guards approached with hefty chains to shackle the captives together.

Birkita growled low in her throat and pulled Sheppard close, screaming against the wind, "You can't survive this cold!"

"I'll manage!" Sheppard forced out as fetters were clamped about his ankles.

Birkita surveyed him with a piercing gaze, her eyes as pale and frozen as this world about them. He shivered convulsively, his skin flushing a crisp pink against the cold. His clothes were thin of light, cotton weaves, clearly meant for warm weather, perhaps even summer, not the crushing cold of this world. Her kind could grow out their fur into heavier winter pelts against the snow and ice, while he would be exposed to the brunt of it with little to no protection. The albino bit her lip.

"What?"

She dropped her head for but a moment and, then, barked, "Stay here!"

Sheppard balked from the loss of body heat as Birkita pulled away from the colonel and the guard that had been kneeling to shackle her. She stepped lightly away and stomped through the ankle deep snow to Sin'ai's carriage. The nobleman opened the door but a crack, just enough to speak through. Sheppard could not hear a word over the wind, but, judging by the expression of soft sorrow upon Birkita's delicate face, it was nothing good. However, in time, Sin'ai nodded slowly and eased the door open enough to extend a hand and help the albino up. She slipped into the carriage with a cool grace, giving but the smallest of pauses to glance almost regretfully back at Sheppard standing so forlornly in the snow.

He shook his head and looked down, kicking at the snow at his feet. "Traitor."

Sheppard half expected to be left in the cold, but Sin'ai cracked the door open again and gestured for the nearest guard to join him. There was a moment's discussion, and, then, the nobleman slammed the door shut again. The guard muttered something under his breath, likely a curse before approaching slowly, reluctantly, producing and handing over what appeared to be a tattered, ragged leather jacket.

Sheppard looked to the guard, who simply shrugged. "Turali Sin'ai and the Lady favor you."

Sheppard did not bother asking any further questions. Instead, he just pulled the leather coat on over his already soaked BDUs. The coat dangled about him, long enough to skim the ankle deep snow, more like a cloak than a true jacket. It would not provide much warmth, now that his clothes had gotten wet with melted snow, but it was better than nothing. He sighed and wrapped the coat tightly about him.

A low rumble met Sheppard's ears from behind. He glanced back to see Ar'kahl chained behind him. The hulking Garou stood tall in the snow, glaring into the swirling flakes to the albino in the carriage. When Sheppard turned to see what had caught the Garou's attention, he too scowled. Sin'ai had snaked his arm about Birkita, tenderly, affectionately, smiling warmly at her. She turned away, her expression pained somehow, and Sheppard knew the albino had turned back to Sin'ai for some small measure of mercy for Sheppard.

Before Sheppard could contemplate it further, the drivers began their whipping, calling, and other various cues to their teams of nightmarish horses to walk on. The chain at the colonel's ankle jerked as the slaves were pulled on their way. He shuddered to himself, forcing his aching, frozen,and exhausted body to trudge forward through the thickening snow in the path of the great, lumbering horses.

It would be a long night and many miles spent staggering through the blizzard. Sheppard held the coat closed about him, trying quite desperately not to think about what the paltry article of clothing had cost and failing rather miserably at it. He tried, instead, to focus simply on putting one foot in front of the other, keeping up with the carriage ahead on him to stay out of the wind and staying just ahead of the clearly bitter Ar'kahl. When they were finally herded down a long tunnel and into shelter from the wind, Sheppard never felt so relieved to see yet another cage, slumping into a far corner away from the Garou.

xxxx

There was no battle in the pit the next day nor the next as the winter storm continued to rage overhead. Not for Sheppard and not for the Garou. It came as a welcome respite to the human's aching, battered body as he watched the white-out through a high window.

Unfortunately, that also meant none of the spoils of the pit, including food. His stomach growled in hunger, panging for something, anything after such woefully meager meals the days before. However, in the cell, there was a bucket of water which kept icing over, and Sheppard settled for tricking his stomach by sucking on small bits of ice. Eventually, the colonel gave up trying to stave off the hunger with just ice chips and curled up in his corner, drawing the cracked, leather coat up and about him like a blanket.

He woke with a start in the dark of night to the sound of wild growls and snapping jaws as two of the Garou squabbled and rolled for a few moments. Probably rivals from the Old Guard and the Orphans hashing out a bit more of their so-called "politics." Sheppard held his breath and clutched his jacket closer, pressing deeper into the corner. However, in a moment, the Garou settled down. Still, Sheppard did not sleep any more that night, his head swimming each time he closed his eyes.

That morning, the snow finally broke in favor of a cutting, arctic wind that remained through the day, chilling fright down to the core. By the time evening fell again, Sheppard was utterly miserable. There wasn't a single part of John's body that didn't ache as he curled up on his side upon the frozen rock. Chills ripped through his body. The colonel hugged himself against the pain and the bitter cold, but his shivers refused to abate. The icy wind cut through him to the bone, settling there and gnawing at him from the inside out, despite the leather coat. Each and every joint on his body felt stiff and arthritic. Sheppard clutched his shattered, ruined hand close to his chest protectively, blowing out upon his palms in some vain hope to loosen the joint as a strange warmth began to spread through his body.

Sheppard shuddered, recalling the survival rule of three. Three minutes without air, three hours without heat, three days without water, and three weeks without food. He began to automatically catalogue his own outward symptoms. Violent shivering. Poor muscle control and coordination. Quick, shallow respiration. A confusing haze that lingered over his mind and seemed to make everything so very difficult. Sheppard looked down to his uninjured hand and tried to touch his index finger to his thumb, to no avail. He coughed and drew the coat tighter about himself for warmth. The Garou hardly seemed affected by the freezing cold at all, but Sheppard knew the signs and symptoms of stage two hypothermia all too well.

He let his eyelids droop for moment to half mast before snapping them open again. Sheppard had to stay awake. Most hypothermia victims just fell asleep, several burrowing instinctively into places where they could not be found. He had to stay conscious and focused, to force his body to move and will his blood to keep on pumping. But it was so very nice to just lie there and relax after so long amid the agitated Garou who seemed more preoccupied at that moment with pacing the length of the cell.

"No..." Sheppard jerked awake, lifting his head for but a moment.

It had been just a few moments, judging by how far the Garou had shifted and by the furring on some. Most of the Garou had been but lightly furred as they paced. Slowly, but surely, though, a few had started to sprout thick tufts of soft pelt. Sheppard glanced to the window above and saw the darkness of night there.

Sheppard rose and circled for a moment, blowing on his hands. He could have drawn close to the Garou for warmth, as the two-natured seemed to maintain a higher core temp as a rule of thumb, but the colonel knew that was next to impossible. The warriors tolerated Sheppard's presence, but only so much. While the colonel would have loved to approach and share in the slight fever that radiated from each of the wolves, he knew they would immediately jump and snap at him, all fur and teeth. Sheppard limped through the cell, pacing about a small, two meter circle, his movements sluggish and awkward as he dragged his broken foot. A part of his brain screamed that his stumbling gait was as the result of the hypothermia and his muscles ceasing to function properly, but the colonel kept trying to tell himself it what just his injuries. Each step felt like agony ripping through his battered and broken body.

After what felt like perhaps too long, Sheppard slumped down once more to the cold floor. He sat with his knees drawn up to his chin, shielding his mangled wrist from the driving cold. One of the Garou flashed him a knowing look. Sheppard was exhausted and broken, close to the edge of consciousness now, and the wolves knew it. They were predators, after all, under their human skin, and hungry ones at that. Predators often preyed upon the weak, injured, and sickly. It was only a matter of time before one of them decided to come for him.

The colonel glanced to the high window once more and spied something horrible there. The moon of this planet, wherever they had been taken, was full and luminous in the sky. He had seen the effect of the lunar phases well enough to know that the Garou would not be able to resist the change, nor their baser, animal side. They were starving predators, and, as the change took them, they would begin to hunt. Sheppard just so happened to be the only prey in the area.

_"Stay awake, god damnit."_

Sheppard's eyes drooped shut once more as sleep threatened to take him. The colonel jerked his up and gave it a shake to clear his mind. He couldn't tell how long he had been drifting, but the wolves had most assuredly taken notice. Several of their feral, almost canine eyes were upon him already, hungrily staring at him. Sheppard trembled, holding himself tighter. He tried to pinch himself to stay awake, but his fingers refused to cooperate with him. The man blinked to try to refresh his eyes and stay awake for a bit longer, as sleep tugged at his consciousness.

_"Shit." _

Sheppard blinked owlishly, willing himself back to wakefulness. Sleep had caught him for a moment off guard. The Garou had shifted their weight. A few of the more daring ones had inched slightly forward, like a macabre game of Red-Light-Green-Light. They were studying him, eyeing him, each choosing where to strike, like the wolves that lurked just beneath the surface.

_"Just stay awake."_

Sheppard continued to glare back at the Garou defiantly as they froze, still shifting form even in their stillness. A few hunkered down slightly on their haunches, as wolves on the hunt. One bore its teeth, no longer human in shape, but long and pointed, salivating at the thought of fresh meat with a long string of glistening slobber. Sheppard lolled for a moment without realizing, but, when he opened his eyes again, a few more of the Garou had drawn a foot or two closer. Fur rippled down their backs and over their arms as they crouched down on all fours, ready to spring. Sheppard tensed, knowing it was coming, and soon. No matter how he fought to stave off sleep, it would take him soon, and, even if slumber did not wrest him, the Garou would come regardless. They were starving just as bad as he was, if not worse after longer in captivity.

From Nix came a snapping bark to the others, his jaw shifting into jowls already. Drops of spittle flecked his lips as the Garou's face molded into something more canine. There came a sickening pop as Nix's leg joints were forced by the change into unnatural hocks. Nix growled deeply at the other Garou before advancing a step forward on what could have been a hand but was quickly becoming a clawed paw. Nix's gleaming, gold eyes saw only the tasty morsel that was Sheppard before him as he approached. The Orphans chittered behind him in excited support of their leader, preening and posturing on their own.

One of the other wolves stepped forward, lowering its head and puffing up. It was a far larger beast than Nix. It took Sheppard a moment to recognize the shaggy, coal grey creature as Ar'kahl. Ar'kahl snapped at Nix, baring his inhuman teeth, but the smaller Garou paid no little heed to the obvious threat. Instead, Nix tossed his head and snarled back, right in Ar'kahl's face for but an instant before returning his attention to Sheppard. Ar'kahl howled, his cry reverberating through the stone chamber in threat.

_"This is it," _John thought in clear distress.

This was going to be their moment. The Old Guard and the Orphans. They were going to come to blows there and then, and over John Sheppard as their next meal.

John's focus drifted for a moment, and, at the edge of the cell, he thought he saw a shimmer of something white and pale. Yet, before he could concentrate of the flash of ivory, Nix leapt for him, surging forward on wolf legs, sprinting across the cell, and hurling his body through the air at Sheppard as he shifted the last bit to full wolf. Sheppard pressed back and into the wall instinctively, as swiftly as his cumbersome, frigid body would react. Ar'kahl moved far faster, though, smashing into Nix and tackling him to the ground in a snarling tangle of fur and teeth. Nix slashed up with his teeth, and the bigger wolf caught him. Nix had been expecting to land upon a weak, pathetic human, and, thusly, Ar'kahl's attack had caught him off guard.

Nix rolled onto his back as Ar'kahl continued to press into him, jaws snapping and teeth tearing. The smaller wolf used his slight size to his advantage to shift under the bigger Garou. Nix kicked out with his hind legs, as though springing into the air, knocking Ar'kahl soundly from him. When the larger Garou landed, the Orphans took a step forward. The bigger wolf turned to them and snarled viciously before returning a steady, feral gaze upon Nix. No clearer message could be made. The human was his and his alone. Not Nix's. No other Garou had first claim to Sheppard.

Ar'kahl circled to the left, baiting Nix. Sheppard had seen it several times before. The Garou would lure his opponents in close, let them come to him, and, then, when his enemy had gotten too close and off balance, he would strike. The colonel had seen it often enough when watching Ronon fight, enough to wonder if the Satedan could best Ar'kahl in a match. At first, Nix made harsh, snipping noises, as though refusing to be baited, even as he circled right and played into the trap unknowingly. Then, at the last second, Nix's muscles clenched up before releasing in one, furious vent. He sprang at Ar'kahl, but the bigger Garou was waiting. Ar'kahl caught him by the neck, wrenching his own head to the side even as he chomped down upon Nix. The smaller Garou's spine snapped with a sickening, meaty crunch. His body went limp in Ar'kahl's hold.

It was as simple as that. The Orphans blinked at the still body of their once leader, in shock. Nix had been nothing but a snot nosed punk up against a seasoned warrior like Ar'kahl. Whatever hopes of rebellion had lingered in the younger Garou were extinguished in that singular motion. The Orphans made soft, apologetic sounds before bowing their heads in submission and slinking back to the shadows where they had come from. John knew, in that moment, the Old Guard and the Orphans were dead. There was only the pack, lead by the teeth of Ar'kahl and by his whim alone.

Then, much to Sheppard's disgust, something terrible happened. Ar'kahl did not come for him. Instead, the massive, wolf-skinned Garou dropped his fallen enemy to the ground. Nix's corpse gave a few death twitches before going still as the nerve endings died. Ar'kahl bowed back, issuing a mourning howl from his blood stained maw as the body shifted back into human form in death, as though respecting his fallen kin. Then, the winner leaned over Nix and ripped at the still warm flesh with his teeth, aiming for the choice meats. Sheppard shivered in horror as Ar'kahl stepped back with his prize, some organ he didn't care to identify, and as the others stepped forward to claim their own portions of the fallen Nix. Even a few of the former Orphans dared draw near to steal a piece of food from their once leader.

Sheppard curled up tighter on himself, shivering uncontrollably now. He wasn't certain if it were from the cold or the brutality. He tried not to watch as the Garou shifted to their wolf skin to feed, but he could not shut out the stomach turning sounds of flesh ripping and tearing under sharp teeth, nor the scent of iron and copper on the air. If the Garou were that willing to turn on their own kin for food, there was no telling how soon they would turn on him, how much time Nix's death had bought him.

He didn't have time to think about it when he heard the snarls and growls of the Garou growing restless and aggressive once more. Nix's human corpse had been but an appetizer, the bones picked clean in what had felt like no more than a half hour. Yet the Garou still looked hungry. They squabbled over the larger bones that a part of John sickly recognized as femurs, hips, tibias, ulnas, and other human bits. They reeled and tugged against one another, all but Ar'kahl, who crouched low in a corner of his prize to savor the fresh, steaming meat of his kill.

And, then, when one of the bones was knocked out of a Garou's jaws and skittered across the cold, stone floor in Sheppard's direction, John knew it most assuredly wouldn't be long. Those hungry eyes were upon him again, predatory and stalking. The Garou stilled, as though all arriving at the same thought at the same time. They were hungry. They had killed one of their own. They could kill another and be sated. The Garou were driven by a bloodlust, perhaps the animal inside of them maddened by the scent of blood upon the air. They growled low and throaty, not at one another but at Sheppard now. Fur bristled down their flesh as the wolves hunched down to stalk their helpless and cornered prey.

"Whoa... whoa.... no..." Sheppard whimpered as he pressed back furthered into the wall feebly. He even heard himself incoherently trying to order them like trained dogs. "No.... baaad puppy. No."

The Garou took a step forward, like a cohesive pack now, driven by the need to feed and the dark knowledge that food was right there. They had never seemed to hunt in a pack to him, never with any order at least. Instead, the Garou had always seemed to work as individuals, taking down prey of their own strengths and accords as Ar'kahl had with Nix. Perhaps it was the starvation that made them move as a cohesive unit as a few of them fringed off to the side to corral Sheppard in, not that the hypothermic and injured colonel could or would get very far compared to the Garou in their wolf skin.

Sheppard reached down with his left hand, pawing desperately across the floor. He needed a weapon, anything. A rock or even a stray bone within arm's reach would suffice. Yet there was nothing, even as the Garou slunk closer, their jaws hanging open and dripping saliva. Even if he could find anything, Sheppard seriously doubted he could fend off one of the Garou in his condition, let alone a whole pack.

Something twisted in Sheppard, and he screwed his eyes waiting for the inevitable now. He distantly wished it would be a quick kill, like Nix's, with as little pain as possible. More than anything, as the Garou made soft, snarling sounds at one another, Sheppard wished they would just get it over with. A howl pierced the night and the darkness of Sheppard's own death wishes, and John dismally thought that, perhaps, just perhaps, that was the last thing he would ever hear in his life, the sound of the predator coming for him. Yet, strangely, the Garou went silent. Sheppard warily cracked open his eyes and watched as the creatures receded as they hunched back to the recessives of the cell and parted like the Red Sea before him.

A white wolf, smaller and lankier than the others danced through the Garou on nimble feet towards John. Birkita. She wore a heavy, leather collar bearing a large, silver bell that jingled loudly with each and every of the albino's long, elegant strides. Ivory fur stood on end as Birkita turned and occasionally snapped at the other two-natured about her. Once, one of the Garou moved towards her, snarled, but the others were quick to leap upon him and put the monster back in its place. They hung their heads in the presence of the pale Birkita.

The female drew close, so very close. Sheppard stiffened instinctively, flinching away from her even as Birkita drew close to his face to sniff him and study his scent. John watched the wolf out of the corner of his eyes, pressing deep against the cold stone.

Birkita whimpered solemnly at his distrust.

The albino stepped back from John, swishing her long, bushy tail in jerky motions. The white wolf growled low at the other Garou, flattening her ears down and pinning them to her head. The threat was clear. Birkita held more sway over the Garou to claim Sheppard as her own. The others made quiet, balking sounds before slipping away from the white wolf and from the few bones that remained of Nix.

Sheppard smiled weakly and thankfully. "Thanks, girl."

The wolf turned to him and lapped at the side of his face with a broad, velveteen tongue, her bell ringing with each stroke. He chuckled softly. It was almost impossible to think of this puppyish wolf at the regal Lady Birkita in her shimmering, white robes.

She whimpered slightly before striding towards the long leg bone that turned the wolves' attention to the colonel. Gingerly, the albino picked the bone up in her teeth and brought it to John, setting it just a foot or two away from him. Sheppard didn't move, didn't take his sight off the albino. When he did not reach for the proffered bone, the white wolf nudged it closer towards him. The wolf whined at him, as though hoping he'd take up Nix's bone and chew on it like one of the other Garou.

The colonel shook his head numbly. "Sorry, but I can't... eat _that_."

The albino gave a small, chortling sound from its canine throat and slumped down over the bone, working it in her jaws. Sheppard watched curiously as the creature chewed and chomped at the human bone with a disgusted fascination, the sort of morbid interest only piqued by trainwrecks. With a harsh, crunching noise, the female broke through the bone to the hollow shaft. Then, the albino took up the larger half and approached Sheppard slowly, almost timidly. The colonel froze again, tensing, but the wolf merely placed the bone gently in his lap. He didn't touch it. She whined and licked at the raw edges of the bone, giving him an imploring look with those off-colored eyes of hers.

"The marrow...." Sheppard breathed, grimacing as he watched the female work at her portion of what was likely Nix's femur.

The albino looked up to Sheppard, with an almost human understanding in those massive, wrongly colored eyes. She dipped her head slightly, as though in agreement. Sheppard prodded the bone with a finger, and, to his curiosity, the white wolf put her nose to the edge of her end of the bone and gave it a lick with her pink tongue, as though gesturing. Sheppard glanced up to the Garou, who were just glowing, reflected eyes in the shadows now. The white wolf nodded her head in the direction of the bone in the man's lap. Sheppard glanced down at it, remembering in the back of his mind that the thing had not come from an animal, a wolf, a cow, but a man. Nix. Granted, he had been an asshole, but Sheppard wasn't the kind of sick bastard to actually _eat _another person, no matter how badly his stomach protested. He was hungry, but not hungry enough to ignore the fact hat it had come from a decidedly unwilling donor.

The colonel shook his head. "I can't."

The white wolf whined once more, a high pitched lamenting sound. She lifted up from her spot and approached slowly once more, her half of Nix's leg bone in her teeth. The albino nuzzled against him, gently yet forcefully, like a mother tending to her cub. He took it as a message that, if he wasn't interested in eating, he had better rest to keep his strength up. Oddly enough, granted how difficult it had been to stay awake during the fights, Sheppard couldn't argue with the albino. He relented, slumping down onto the side that hurt less, and the white wolf drew close.

For a moment, the albino seemed to regard Sheppard's huddling, shivering form curiously before snuggling up beside him. The albino slid under John's arm, letting her body sidle close up to him to share the warmth of both her body and her downy pelt. She perched her head upon her paws and kept those icy, cold eyes facing out to the Garou that still prowled the dark, absolutely maternal for a predator. There was something surprising about how gingerly a wolf could treat a man, far more carefully than a favored pet dog would. As an uneasy slumber loomed over him, John heard Ar'kahl's rumbling snarl from the darkness and felt the albino's low growl vibrating against him.

John stroked the wolf's fine fur with his good hand before he drifted off, murmuring, "Good girl."

**XXX**

**XXXXX**

**XXX**

**Author's Notes :** Oh nos! Now, I'm not a _Twilight _fan, because, honestly, how could I be when there's Eric Northman, Bill Compton, Alcide and Quinn.... *purrs* oh such delicious creatures of the Southern vampire novels! However, for all you who are oh so impatiently waiting for the newest film installment, this chapter's for you.


	17. Symphony Sorrowed

**FEAST OF THE SAMHAIN – SYMPHONY SORROWED**

Consciousness returned to Dog slowly, in small, fleeting sensations, the first of which being a warm pressure about him. It was not an entirely unpleasant feeling, especially after so many years unshielded from the cold. He sagged into the warmth, savoring the heat before realizing to his great shock and horror that it was imparted from a solid, muscular bulk that held him, cradling him close. He started, pulling torpidly against the arms that held him.

"Shh…. Shh…. It's okay Sheppard," a deep voice crooned as broad hands rubbed his arms tender.

He shuddered at the touch but drank of it; it had been so long, so very long, since anyone had touched him with any gentleness, let alone held him against the cold of his frozen soul. Yet, he still bit his lip, untrusting of this yet, even as one of those great, meaty hands rose. He flinched, certain a blow would follow, but the palm raised only to smooth over his long hair. A muted whine of terror tore from his throat as the hands moved over him, and he shivered, torn between wanting to enjoy this comforting or flee from it.

"Hey, hey. I'm not going to hurt you, buddy," the rich, silky smooth baritone went on. Those hands squeezed him in what might have been a hug or a containing hold as the man went on, "I promise. No one is ever going to hurt you ever again."

Dog felt a hot tear stream down his cheek as his body shook and his chest tightened. It was such as tortuous, awful thing to say. Dog curled his gnarled, scrawny arms about himself, hugging himself for dear life, as though he might fly apart at any moment. It was such an impossible thing to promise when Dog's life was nothing but one hurt after another. He felt his body lurching, his chest aching as it grew harder and harder to breath. It took a moment for him to realize he was crying in painful, wracking sobs that sent white hot tongues of flames licking through his chest.

"Hey, don't do that. Please," the man begged. "Shh, shh, shh."

Broad hands manipulated Dog, turning him to face the stranger. Dog looked through tear blurred eyes at the man who holds him and panics, gasping for air against thick wads of mucous that clogged his throat and nose. The man was nothing short of huge, easily capable of snapping Dog in two. And, yet, all he did was reach up to carefully wipe the tears from Dog's hollowed face with the wide pad of a large thumb.

"You don't have to be afraid," the man said softly, speaking the words in a soothing tone. "I promise, no one will hurt you. Not again. Never. I made a promise to you, Sheppard, and I keep my promises. You know that." Dark brown eyes met Dog's remaining functioning eye with an imploring depth that nearly frightened Dog. "Somewhere in you, you know that." Dog gasped and turned his head away, but the stranger took him by the chin and held his gaze, "You've forgotten, I know. But you'll remember."

They were words of reassurance so touching, so caring and compassionate that it terrified Dog, sending him a sorrow so black and so deep he thought he might drown in it forever. He could hardly breathe, but he did not fight as those hands pulled him close once more and rubbed his back reassuringly. He cried even still, his tears staining the clothes of this man. Yet the stranger hardly seemed to care. The man just let Dog melt against him and cry himself out until he stilled, worn out and exhausted. And, when Dog was spent, already drifting back towards slumber, the man held him even then.

"Shh, shh. You'll remember, in time. Just rest now, and sleep."

It was a direct order. Dog was good at those now, far better than he was at listening to those sugar sticky false promises of care and tenderness. And, even if he still had any shreds of his soul remaining to defy orders, he was too tired, too drained to struggle. Instead, he held himself still and let his eyelids droop.

xxxx

Night fell quickly in the mountains, swiftly stealing the golden light of day in favor of cold, silvery threads of moonlight. The Colorado night seemed darker and deeper somehow, compared to even the deepest of swamp marshes. Less city light pollution penetrated these isolated parts of the mountains, even with the Cheyenne Mountain Complex so near. Stars dusted the heavens in thicker clumps and patches here, dappling the night in an exquisite frosting. It was a wild, primal night, unadulterated by the inexorable encroachment of both man and industry, the sort of night that Sookie Babineaux could not have honestly claimed to have seen in decades

Sookie Babineaux waited for some time at the top of the hill before reluctantly rising upon her creaking joints, lamenting the toll of age upon her brittle body. She glanced about her and sighs. The hill was littered with slumbering cubs where they have sprawled mid-play, some yawning and still fighting the nagging tug of exhaustion. It had been a long, exhilarating day for these pretty, young things. Most packs tended to abhor the notion of living completely intermingled in the world of the single-natured, avoiding it at all costs in favor of the more rural areas. It was easier to hide as such, and, thus, it was rare the cubs should meet any other Garou of their age outside of packmates, let alone in numbers such as these. It seemed cruel to Sookie Babineaux that they should have to meet under the warring moon.

Sookie looked skyward, to the Moon, whispering a prayer meant for the ears of no man, no wolf. Sookie Babineaux had seen much in her many years, so much so that she often thought their illusory goddess, the Moon, had a personal vendetta against her. The Great Depression stole away several of the homes of other pack families, and nearly took hers as well, were it not for the fact that they took in so many of the displaced families – who, in turn, shared what they could with the Babineaux's to keep the banks at bay. There had been deaths and injuries, both innocent and violent. There had been hurricanes and flooding, along with the other issues associated with living amid the bogs. Several wolves had even just drifted away, and there had been the death of her husband during pack politicking.

Then, there had been the wars, each more painful than the last. There had, of course, been small territorial skirmishes between packs – such was the life of Garou. However, there had never been a full scale war among the Garou in Sookie's life until now; war was an element almost entirely of the human world, albeit one that persistently impeded the Garou. In the early, disorganized wars of the Revolution, the War of 1812, and the Civil War, Garou soldiers had easily slipped away on the nights of the full moon to sate the need to change before returning to their ranks by dawn. Modern warfare, however, precluded this, which necessitated so many a young male to take up wolf pelt to never again return to the human world in a draft dodge to keep their pack, their species safe from exposure. Through the years, Sookie Babineaux watched all five of her male offspring go into exile this way, forced to bear her sorrows in silence as the Law of her pack.

The worst, however, had to be when the Cole home caught fire in the middle of the night on the New Moon. It had been an accident, the investigators said. Something about faulty wiring that Sookie did not quite catch in the confusion of it all. Nodonn Cole had been a pup at the time. His father had gotten Nodonn out in time and rushed back in to help his wife scour the house for their five year old daughter when the roof collapsed. The firemen eventually found all three of them, huddled up in a corner of their daughter's room, holding one another against the flames that scorched them. It was thought that the little girl – Sara – had been hiding under her bed. James and Tammy Cole had been good people, loyal to both their country and their pack, close friends to the Babineauxs. Had it not been the New Moon, had they been able to take their wolf skin, they might have been fast enough and strong enough to get out, to break through the skeletal wreckage of their home. They had died so very needlessly, stolen away by the fickle Moon.

Oh, yes, Sookie Babineaux cursed the Moon, but she still prayed, even all these years on. The Moon was a fickle goddess, one of cold cruelty but also great bounty. Her kin, the Caddo, had been spared the worst of Katrina, a great blessing. The varied business of her family comfortably kept the pack fed and sheltered, even if it were not under lavish accommodations. And, now, to hear that their lost Anput was found, it was nothing short of a miracle. Sookie Babineaux prayed, but in guarded words. They would need the Moon's blessing on that eve.

A heavy, cumbersome grief burdened Sookie Babineaux, one that pressed her to pray so fervently to a goddess who hardly seemed to care for Her wayward children, the Garou. That little puppy, Nodonn Cole, had whispered a terrible secret to his Auntie Babineaux alone, unable to lie to her after all those years. He had told her of the half-breeds, Ronon Dex and John Sheppard, two pitiful, lost souls in an unkind world. He confessed that he knew the law, much as Weylin and Lady Birkita Canagan did, ancient laws that demanded the blood of the half-breeds. Yet, even as he told her, Sookie Babineaux knew that Nodonn could not take their lives. It was not in him to kill, and, even if it were, to do so would risk exposing the existence of the Garou – a sin worse than allowing the half-breeds to live. And, now, she alone kept Nodonn Cole's secret.

Sookie trudged through the tall, rustling grasses, pausing only as a dark shadow crossed her path and stopped before her. It was a towering, hulking animal, a Garou of heavy musculature, crisply golden eyes and shaggy, ebony pelt. It was one of the Fenrisulfr, one of the many other foreign Garou to answer Alain's call to war. The wolf lowered its head to her but a fraction. She frowned. Proper manners demanded the Garou to truly bow its head to her, as presiding Law over the proceedings. Yet the Fenrisulfr never were much known for social niceties. The stranger lifted his nose and howled solemnly before slinking off into the night and back to its patrol. He would keep the pups safe, even if it was at the cost of his own life, perhaps the only grace to the Fenrisulfr.

The old Garou strode down the slope to the road and sighed heavily. If the males of her own pack were tiring in their limited numbers, she could hardly imagine facing the thousands of Garou drawing together on the road, trickling in even then. Sookie gasped to see that there were more foreigners among those gathered, so many tribes.

The Garou were a strange species as a whole, divided into what their human cousins may have dubbed "breeds" or "subspecies," while the Garou named "tribes." Each tribe varied in political structure, culture, beliefs, and outward appearance, like the many countries of Earth. In all her long years, Sookie Babineaux had only ever seen Rougarou with her own two eyes – the wolves naturalized to the southeastern United States. However, now, she could not deny these others. The nimble little Loup Garou of France, the ancestors of the Rougarou, so very similar in build and structure. The near gargantuan Fenrisulfr of Scandanavia, who drew their name from Fenrir of the Norse mythology. The Thule and the Inpu, with their lanky bodies, more jackal than wolf, the Thule with a heavier pelt than the darker, taller Inpu. The Maharani, with their striped flanks, blunted muzzles and wide, almost tiger like paws. The Snows of the Northern territories, capable of turning a frozen white in the winter like the snowshoe hair they hunted. By and large, her tribe, the Rougarou numbered the majority, but there were so many, all testimony to the undeniable pull of the Anput.

Each lifted their gaze to her. Some in wolf skin, their eyes honey gold and gleaming like flashing metal, others in human eye. Each gave their respect to her in turn, for she was easily twenty or thirty years the elder of even the oldest of them and the Law, keeper of their ancient ways. Sookie surveyed them with a cautious eye. So many wolves gathered unto one place could be volatile under even the best of circumstances, yet they held their teeth and talons valiantly, each mindful of the task at hand even as they painted one another in warring colors and emblems not see in hundreds of years.

The paint was an ancient tradition, one passed down by tongue and finger through the ages. They marked themselves with white clay ash ground together with a bit of water to form a thick, ivory paste. Moon's blessing, they had always called it. They marked themselves to seek Her protection, Her comforting embrace in the face of death.

Oh, yes, there would be death on that night. Of that, Sookie Babnieaux could be certain. The Garou held numbers, but they were armed only with what they could scrap together at the last minute, in the means of guns and homemade incendiaries. The Cheyenne Mountain staff held a strong, impenetrable keep, numbers excessive to the Garou, and nigh countless weapons of terrifying might at their disposal. Many Garou would fall on this night, that was certain, but they would give their lives for this.

When Alain approached her, his chest bare and a pot of white paint in one hand, Sookie Babineaux knew what to do, just as instinctively as anyone else. She took the pot in one gnarled hand and delicately tipped her fingers in the cool goo. Alain shivered against her touch as she skillful adorned him the symbols of both the Rougarou as a tribe and the Caddo as a pack. She did it with a distance and reserve that seemed unnatural on her considering her usual warmth and calm.

Alain leaned close and spoke in a guarded tone. "You know I have no choice in this matter."

"Ah know," Sookie breathed to her well-meaning yet head strong grandson.

"We have to send a message, a direct one," Alain went on in a low, venomous growl, shaking his head with barely checked rage. "They have to know that we will not take them caging one of our kind lying down."

"Ah know," Sookie crooned again, knowing that, as their hour drew near, there would be no arguing with Alain, the stubborn bastard.

He sought her approval in this, her blessing upon him to attack and kill any human standing in the way of him or any other of their Garou brethren, one which she could not rightly give in earnest granted the demands of upholding the laws. The laws were not a written thing, but every Garou knew them well. As the eldest female of her pack, it was Sookie Babineaux's place to know and keep the laws close to her heart and her pack. Among those laws were the simplest of all creeds. Do not kill any Garou or human numbered high on the list of importance.

Her task completed, she turned to Nodonn. Alain Babineaux had been hers by blood relation, yet Nodonn had been more of a cub to her than Alain ever had. He looked down, sheepish and embarrassed somehow by this, even as he peeled his shirt from his back and exposed himself to the chilled night air. Sookie Babineaux felt her heart melt. Her dearest little puppy was a creature of flesh, bone, sinew, and blood, like any other Garou, and just as mortal.

"I didn't want this."

Sookie felt her heart break for her adopted grandson. "I know."

Knowing this, he whispered softly to her, "Alain's planning a frontal offense." He tightened his fists into tight balls. "They'll mow us down."

"Ya know this place betta than anyone else here, Pup. Is there any other way?"

He thought for a moment and, then, slowly nodded. "Yes. But I'd need to get some things."

Sookie smiled as she applied the final streak of white before leaning close and hugging him. "Then, ya'd better fly, Pup."

"Right."

He bolted into the dark and shadows, and Sookie Babineaux could say nothing more, could only sing her mental prayer as Nodonn Cole of the Caddo fled into the night. _'Moon, keep him.'_

xxxx

Alain Babineaux waited until full dark before having the Garou's hostages hauled out and into the road once more by the Teeth of several packs. They struggled and shouted against gags of shredded fabric, but they were weak and pathetic creatures as a whole compared to the Garou that kept them. Alain gestured with a flick of his wrist to drag them out and into the road. The Teeth forced them roughly down to their knees in the road. Sookie Babineaux saw this all from her place atop the hill, holding her breath as they did.

He barked something, shouting it to the guards stationed at the high fence topped with barbed wire, and her keen ears caught the sound from even on high. "WE GAVE YOU THE CHOICE. GIVE US BACK OUR KIND OR SUFFER OUR WRATH."

Sookie's breath caught in her chest as one of the Teeth sneered, her blood running cold as ice in her veins. She felt the world slow to a crawl, pulsating about Alain Babineaux and those poor, sniveling little humans that Sookie had come to know over tea and snacks on the hill, thundering in time with the roar of her own heart in her ears. Something had changed, leaving the air thick and charged with a horrid tension.

"RELEASE OUR KIN!" Alain ordered again, a damnation to his voice that frightened Sookie Babineaux even on her high place.

And, yet, the soldiers stood their ground impassively.

"REMEMBER THAT!" Alain bellowed at the top of his lungs with the authority of any packmaster. "THEIR BLOOD IS ON YOUR HANDS."

Sookie gasped in horror but she could not turn away, not even as toothy maws crushed down on windpipes and snapped through cartilage and bone with ease. Her eyes could not be torn away from those twitching corpses as their every neuron fired with one last, electro-chemical impulse. Her eyes welled with tears, but even she could look away as the Teeth dropped the dead, ruined meat of those freshly dead to the cold, damp asphalt.

Alain signaled the first wave with a loud, guttural howl that reverberated from the tip of his snout down to the very pads of his toes. The Garou responded in kind, lifting their muzzles to the night and calling in keening answers. It was time, their time. They had waited long enough for an answer from these people.

As was tradition, it was the Teeth who strode out first. The smartest, sharpest, and strongest of their kind, they were the advance troops, shock troops in a way. Sookie Babineaux watched with a heavy heart from her place on the hill as they took to their wolf skin and began the swift charge. She shivered to herself as the Teeth strode out, snapping and growling as they went thundering down the road. Sookie had hoped that, whatever Nodonn had in mind, he would have come back in time to stop this, but, now, there was no turning back, no stopping this initial wave with just her weak, frail voice.

And, so, Sookie Babineaux watched in transfixed horror as the Teeth of so many hundreds of packs stampeded forward in various states between human and wolf skin. The guards aimed their weapons but held their position as the Teeth ran them down. Some fired guns and threw their homemade incendiaries as the guards of the base opened fire with their own firearms.

Yet, Alain hung back, watching as his first wave went forward to their deaths, turning away from the battle to continue his politicking.

Sookie Babineaux spit in rage, but she did not look away. Her cowardly grandson could do it, but not she. Not when such a gross violation of the law occurred, nor when so many lives were being lost. No. Sookie Babineaux forced herself to watch. It was her place to watch when no one else would. The place of the Law.

She blinked back hot tears of shame. "Moon, forgive me."

xxxx

Nodonn Cole froze on all fours as soon as the sound hit him, rolling down the mountain. He had taken his wolf skin as soon as he left his Auntine Babineaux, leaving his pants, cell phone and shoes tucked safely in a hollowed out log that he marked with his claws and scent. Quadrupeds moved faster than bipeds, and Garou were no exception. He had miles to cover before this night would be through. Yet, when the unmistakable sound of gunshot and screams hit his keen ears, for however much distance he had already covered, Nodonn Cole could not help but stop dead in his tracks. No human would have heard, but no Garou would have missed that sound.

Nodonn shook his head and soldiered on; there was nothing he could do about that now, especially not so close to town. He slunk between the buildings, hovering close to the shadows until he came to his goal. A smaller shop with garish, neon writing painted on the windows and hundreds of different items crammed into the window. A pawn shop. He slipped to the back and retook a half skin just long enough to go crashing through the back door to delicately grab his prize between his teeth and bolt.

There was even less time now.

xxxx

O'Neill and Landry gaped in horror from the guard station just inside the North Portal as their men were dragged out and summarily executed. It had been a swift, brutal death, doled out with little emotion or sentiment, before anything could be said or done to spare them. And, then, the Garou came. They swelled as they rushed forward, coming in a solid, rolling mass of flesh and pelt.

"No…." O'Neill whispered.

Yet, even he was powerless to stop this now as the guards of the SGC, so very well trained to deal with everything from Wraith to Ori, acted out of cold, calculated instinct wrought from their impressive training regime. The guards opened with a round of suppressive fire, spraying bullets out in wide, sweeping patterns. They cut down the Garou where they stood, shattering leg bones and slamming into softer tissues with sickly, viscous splatters of crimson blood. The Garou fell before them, tumbling to the ground and spilling out over the asphalt in loose limbed, ruined, broken forms. O'Neill watched in horror as the Garou kept coming, though, leaping over their fallen kin to continue their advance.

In a moment, they were at the fence, hurling themselves at it and scrambling over with such speed that it absolutely astonished and terrified the general. The monsters scrambled over the chain link fence with ease, barely rattling the metal before launching themselves over the barbed wire. They landed with a terrible grace and ease before striking out, lashing out at the soldiers with teeth, talon, knife, and gun, whatever they had to fight with.

While many more fell to the soldiers, they took several of the guards with them, until a full retreat was called to the North Portal and there remained only a bloodied mass of bodies upon the road leading up to the North Portal. A still, wide, expansive open grave. And, yet, to O'Neill's increasing horror, most of the fallen Garou were not dead. They moaned and howled in agony, perhaps their death throes. They were crippled and mangled, dead alive. And, then, those that were not dead already clambered to their feet, bloodied and beaten, but not broken. The Garou were an army of supernatural strength that could constantly throw themselves at any obstacle and would until there were either victorious or crushed completely, while the soldiers of Cheyenne Mountain were entirely human and entirely dead.

O'Neill reached into his pocket and punched redial for Cole's private number, yet the phone merely trilled endless as the Garou continued to storm the base's entrance. He begged in silent tones for Cole to answer, so that a stop might be put to this madness. Yet Cole, that rat bastard, did not answer. He was likely too busy in the blitzkrieg to answer his phone, and O'Neill had seen enough of that insanity. He stormed back into the base once as the North Portal was secured, never looking back.

He brushed past the armed guards standing on edge about the infirmary, striding defiantly until he came face to face with Weylin Canagan. The Garou stood on edge, having reverted to a somewhat middle state between true wolf and true human. He stood tall on his hind legs, but the knees were snapped backwards into acutely angled hocks. His bushy tail swished aggressively as he hunkered low, lifting his lips and snarling at the general. Yet O'Neill had stared down Goa'uld and Ori alike; Jack would not be so easily intimidated by even the toothy gaping maw of Canagan.

O'Neill scowled bitterly. "Don't make me hit you with a rolled up newspaper."

It was meant to be a joke, a simple tease and nothing more, but it came out cruel and cutting, more spiteful than jesting. Normally, O'Neill may have curtailed himself, but he just did not rightly care at that moment. Weylin growled deeply, the sound rattling through Jack's ribs, sending a deathly cold chill down his spine. Yet he stood his ground and glared defiantly back at the Garou.

"Get back. I need to talk to your _Lady_," O'Neill ordered in a cold, dark bark. When Weylin did not move, did not flinch, Jack frowned and snapped, "I said, get back."

Weylin loosed another low growl, but the Lady Birkita's soft, solemn voice stilled him. "Let the general pass, Weylin."

The Garou bristled, standing taller on the balls of his feet before stepping back, allowing the general to enter before sweeping behind him. The lumbering creature watched the general carefully, keeping one eye on O'Neill and the other trained upon the heavily armed soldiers at the end of the hall. Lady Birkita greeted him as soon as Weylin stepped back, drawing near and swooping in front of him on nimble feet that gave barely a hiss of sound as the pads of her dainty, pale feet moved across the cool cement. She pressed a finger to her lips, stilling any argument instantly.

O'Neill furrowed his brow, but Lady Birkita merely gestured behind her to a curious sight to behold. Sheppard slumped supine in Ronon's arms, his body slack and muscles relaxed, as the Satedan spoke in gentle murmurs and stroked the uninjured spots of the colonel with a tenderness that seemed incongruous granted the strength and ferocity of the warrior. That, in itself, was not an unusual sight considering O'Neill had seen it before already. Yet, what caught his attention was the tiny sliver to Sheppard's eyes and the motion of his pupils as he looked to the newly arrived general. Sheppard was conscious and allowing such physical contact.

"Do not raise your voice," Lady Birkita cautioned darkly, her eyes trained on the pair. "Or I will silence you myself."

O'Neill was so startled by the sight that he merely nodded limply. "Yeah, no."

"What do you want?" the albino hissed through her teeth.

"Call off your dogs."

The female pursed her lips together in a tight frown. "Call who off?"

"Oh, don't give me that bullshit! Just do it!" O'Neill barked.

Sheppard flinched at the sudden sound, cowering and scrambled to reflexively press deeper against Ronon's chest. A sound caught in his ruined throat. It might have been a scream, but it came out as a stifled whimper. Ronon shushed him with an almost paternal gesture, rubbing his arms and hugging him close until Sheppard seemed to calm once more until he just trembled and cringed against him.

Lady Birkita glowered at him, her pale, frozen eyes narrowed to slits. "I told you to keep your voice down."

"You know for damned well who I'm talking about."

The albino shook her head tersely. "Have your docs let me know when Sheppard is due for his meds. I'll call Weylin off long enough for –"

"Not him."

The Garou glared. "I don't know who you're talking about."

"The wolves. All those friends of yours that Cole brought with him," O'Neill demanded, pulling Cole's note from his pocket and stuffing it in her pale hand. "Just…. please… call 'em off already before anyone gets hurt."

She scanned the note, her face falling before she looked to Weylin and Ronon. "Stay here. Keep him safe and calm." Then, that cold, stern gaze of a true queen fell upon O'Neill. "Show me."

xxxx

Alain Babineaux smiled as his ranks clawed and slashed at the gates to the North Portal, ripping them asunder and casting the ruined protection aside. They had lost many men, but the Garou were strong, proud creatures. They were the last true Spartans of this world, and they would not fail. They tore and ripped at the sealed entrance to the North Portal with long talons and claws, prying at a defense that would not open. No matter. Alain preferred this. He had the military pinned down. And while Cheyenne Mountain might had supplies to last through any sort of nuclear holocaust, eventually, someone would come down that road again and refresh the Garou's supply of bargaining chips.

Even still, he gestured with a jerk of his head for Sigurn Northman to move in and survey the situation. Alain Babineaux had called Northman personally, having already worked with him on other, more mudane endeavors than this. Sigurn made his initial assessment and withdrew, already planning.

"An hour to get my supplies. Thirty minutes to prep. Another twenty to evacuate to a safe distance," Sigurn announced.

Alain beamed to himself. "Perfect. Get to work."

In two hours, they'd be in.

xxxx

It took O'Neill a moment to grow used to the motion of the female Garou at his side as he took her up to the central command. She moved with a lithe, impatient grace, like a high strung little thoroughbred. His aged hindered him, kept him from moving with the same ease as she. He struggled to keep up, yet Lady Birkita matched her pace with his, taking long, even, effortless strides no matter how it might have irked her to be so curtailed.

The soldiers at the doors to the command center jumped to their feet to salute, but O'Neill hardly noticed, panting without thinking, "At ease." He grabbed the albino by the hand and drew her up to a bank of surveillance monitors displaying the continued advance of the Garou. "Call them off."

"What the….?" Lady Birkita breathed as she stared into the monitors. "I didn't…."

O'Neill frowned and folded his arms across his chest. "Look, excuse me for saying, but you haven't been exactly honest with us about who you are and where you come from. I don't care if you're local. I don't care if you did it or Cole did it. Just. Call. Them. Off. Now."

"I can't….." she whispered.

"Can't or won't?" O'Neill snarled.

Lady Birkita looked to him, her eyes wide and flashing with anger. "I can't." She lowered her head to fix a predatory gaze upon him. "They've gone to war."

"So?" O'Neill yelled, stepping close to her, close enough to smell the wide and the night in her ivory hair, to feel the heat of her body, the excess warmth of her kind. "Just call 'em off already before anyone else has to die!"

"You don't understand!" Lady Birkita snapped, quivering with rage. "They've gone to war." She stilled herself, forcibly collecting herself. "My species has only survived on this planet and in this country as long as we have by hiding, by protecting the secret of our existence at all costs. Why do you think it was so easy for you to just assume we were from another world?"

"And what, pray tell, is that all supposed to mean to me?" O'Neill fumed.

Lady Birkita shook her head, a sad, frantic sort of motion. "It means that they will never be called off until they contain this breach of our secrecy, until each and every _human_ witness is dead."

xxxx

_Six years earlier:_

Sheppard woke in the morning to a hazy warmth and faced with a cloud of puffy white. For a moment, the sense was such a delicious one that Sheppard ignored the source and snuggled into it. He burrowed his head into the downy fur, curling into the bodily heat it provided. He clung to the soft pelt, using it like something of a pillow and blanket at the same time. The albino wolf whined at the contact, squirming slightly under his clinging hands and rousing him to full alertness.

Sheppard jumped as soon as he remembered his situation, immediately surveying the cell about him. Any sign of Nix's body had been scoured away, right down to a smoothed spot on the ground where many broad tongues had licked the stone clean of even the scantest of traces of blood. The Garou, meanwhile, slumbered, all at least in their warm, furry pelts but in various state of change. And, beside him, the albino Birkita sprawled.

She rolled over, fixing those frozen eyes on him for but a moment, yawning, and resting her head back upon her paws to sleep once more. For a moment, Birkita looked less and less like a shape-shifting monster and more and more like a faithful pet. It seemed so very strange to think of her as the same person between these two skins, hiding behind that pointed snout and mouth full of sharp teeth, perhaps just as strange as it was to remember that this creature that had protected him the night before was the same creature to have abandoned him for the warmth and security of Turali Sin'ai's private coach.

The colonel reached down and stroked the nape of her neck, rousing the female enough to crack her blue eye open. "You know, you could at least change back. We need to talk." Birkita lifted her head enough to glare at him before turning away; Sheppard merely chuckled and wagged a finger at her, putting on his best Desi Arnaz. "Luuuucccy, you've got some 'splainin' to do."

Birkita rolled away from him, stealing away both her body heat and her attention. Yet, from the set of her muscles, Sheppard could tell it wasn't in sleep. Sheppard had owned enough dogs in his life to easily spot the tension to her shoulders, the line of fur ridging down her long spine. Birkita simply ignored him.

"Come on, Birkita."

The albino growled heavily in threat, her ribcage vibrating with the sound.

Sheppard smirked, prodding her with the tip of his toe. "Hey."

She turned just long enough to snap at him, baring those pearled white teeth of hers. It was tempting fate, Sheppard knew, to harass a tired, cranky predator like any of the Garou, but he had to know. He had to know if it was worth it, whatever she had given last night to Turali Sin'ai.

"I can be incredibly annoying, if you didn't already know that." Sheppard grinned slightly, his lips quirking at the thought. "Just ask any Wraith." He rubbed his chin. "You know what I like best? Giving them names." He paused for a moment. "I could rename you, you know. That is, of course, unless you decide to join the conversation and stop me." When Birkita did not respond, Sheppard shrugged. "I warned you. Let's see. Lassie? Nah. Old Yeller? Wasn't that a boy? Oh, oh, I know, Snow White."

Something snapped in Birkita and she rolled to him once more, shuffling loose her ivory pelt and fixing him in cold eyes. When her hands touched the ground, they were something in between paws and true hands. Her long, silver locks framed her face as a muzzle barely shaped for human speech rose to meet his face as the bones continued to snap and shift into something more human.

The words she spoke were cruel and laced with thinly veiled anger. "Leave me alone."

She rose and strode off, the silver bell about her neck jingling from the motion. Birkita hung her entirely human head now, her shoulders rounding in what may have been dejection. One of the guards let her out, locked the door, and escorted her away. Sheppard just stared, unsure whether to be severely pissed at her or horrified for her. Something had changed, and it frightened him, even when she returned the next night in her wolf skin with a bit of meat for him in her teeth and the night after that to keep him safe through the full moon, leaving in the morning still in that white pelt.

xxxx

They stared. They tried not to, Weylin Canagan knew, but the people of Atlantis could not help but stare. The spoke in hushed whispers, in low tones that they thought he could not hear. They were not aware, of course, of the keen instincts and sharp, animal senses of the Garou. They did not know he could hear every whispered word shared in supposed secrecy. They were afraid of him.

"He could kill a man with his bare hands..."

"A wild animal…"

"Wonder if he gets fleas…."

Weylin sniffed. Let them talk. He was not here for their petty little rumors. Weylin was here for one purpose and one alone; to find Birkita. He had no time for minor irks and irritations such as those.

Woolsey had made the appropriate arrangements for Weylin. It had been an uncomfortable affair, handing his life over once more to another human, another of single nature who dared lord over him as though the weedy little nerd could actually hold Weylin by force. Yet, Woolsey had handled the situation well enough, even setting Weylin up with private quarters. He requisitioned several sets of plain, black BDUs in the Garou's size, as well as boots. Woolsey had been as kind, accommodating, and polite as he could muster granted the circumstances, calling Weylin "one of them," a "Lantean" much as any other.

Yet, it was when Weylin reported for duty to Major Lorne that the truth sank in; he would never be one of them. Lorne looked upon Weylin with a grave suspicion, as though the Garou were a rapid beast, prone to attack at any moment and without reason. Lorne held no trust for Weylin, yet he assigned the Garou to his own team, along with Ronon, likely to keep a better eye on the pair. Weylin held his tongue.

It was only on that morning, the morning of their first mission, a routine trading operation, that Weylin said anything. They were prepping, the four of them. Lorne, Cadman, Ronon, and Weylin. Cadman and Lorne were gearing up, checking sidearms and P90s alike, loading up on extra ammo. Ronon had his own weapon. Yet, Weylin was offered none.

"Don't trust me with a gun?" he snarled.

Lorne started, oddly surprised. "Honestly? Not really." He frowned. "I don't mean any disrespect, but I don't know anything about you or what you're capable of. So, until you put in some time on the range, I'd rather _not _have to worry about being shot by someone who thinks it's all just 'point and click.'"

Weylin cocked his head to the side in an oddly canine expression. "I can learn."

Lorne sighed and shook his head. "Sorry, but, I'm just not all that certain I can trust you yet. I mean, look at you. You're…. you're like something right out of a horror movie. It's a little hard to get over species prejudices overnight."

Weylin shrugged to himself. "Suit yourself."

Slowly, and unapologetically, the Garou began to methodically strip down to his bare skin, neatly folding his clothes and setting them upon the table. Ronon hardly took notice and simply, politely, ignored the situation. Cadman flushed and looked away, daring occasional glances when she did not think the Garou would notice. Lorne, however, nearly jumped clean out of his skin.

"And just what do you think you're doing?" the major inquired, folding his arms across his chest.

Weylin shook his head, tufts of thick, ebony fur already sprouting forth from his forearms. "If you're not going to arm me, I'll just have to do it myself."

Ronon chortled to himself even as Weylin completed the change down to full wolf; it was the sort of answer he would have given. In fact, it was an answer he had given in the past, when still on the run from the Wraith. No one would dare trust him with a weapon. As such, he'd grown quite skilled at making his own weapons.

Their first mission was off to nothing short of a rocky start.

xxxx

There were to be fights in the pit that night; Sheppard knew. He could hear the roar of the crowds and the thunder of Sin'ai's customary drums thrumming through the stone keep. Thus, it was no surprise when the Wraith and Sin'ai's guards came for them. However, it was to his very great surprise that the guards did not take him, throwing him back to the cold, unkind stone of the cell, along with a small parcel of smoked meat, a flask of water, and meager medical supplies. It was then that he understood; Birkita had traded herself for him. Sheppard chewed the meat slowly, making it last as he mulled it over

xxxx

The mission started simply enough. Soren was a temperate world, noted for a vast agriculture in several crops and livestocks and beloved among Lanteans for the bustling market days. Soren's market was something like a monstrous flea market and farmers market combined. Any sort of goods could be found and purchased on market days. Fine, embroidered silks and jewelry tended to draw the eyes of the women of Atlantis, while many of the soldiers steered towards the unique arms and hand crafted weaponry. All were drawn to the exotic, delectable foods and spices on display. And, then, there were the odder, treasured finds, like the rough Pegasus chalks and crayons, the lavish soaps, and complex puzzle games. As such, Sheppard and Woolsey had tended to rotate teams for regular scheduled trade runs to Soren, as a sort of privilege. Fortunately, trade days were frequent, weekly by Soren standards, which translated to roughly near weekly by Lantean measure.

Atlantis was well stocked, but Ronon understood Lorne's logic behind traveling to Soren. Trade worlds such as Soren trafficked in vital intelligence perhaps as much as they trafficked in physical goods and services. It was a sound move to try Soren first. Ronon followed Lorne and Cadman as they flashed Sheppard's photo to their usual sources, while Weylin tottered on their heels and sniffed about on his own. Something smelt off, and it bothered the Garou.

It was when they arrived at a little dive bar watering that was also favored among the Lanteans that something stirred in Weylin. As he sniffed about, his fur rose, standing on end. He grew agitated, growling under his breath as he took in the scents that mingled there. The crisp tang of alcohol that stung his nostrils, the acrid vomit and urine from a corner were some drunk had let loose, and something beneath even that, something that twisted Weylin's nose hairs wherever he sniffed.

Lorne pointedly ignored the wolf and turned to the bartender, who was currently glaring. "Oh, he's housebroken." The bartender folded his arms across his chest, and the major got down to business. "We're looking for information."

Weylin heard the exchange but hardly paid it any heed as he stalked the bar until he placed the scent and rushed to Lorne's side, nudging the major and growling, but that effort only earned a patronizing look from Lorne and the cutting jibe of, "What's wrong, boy? Is Timmy stuck in a well?"

Weylin practically rolled his eyes, but Lorne just laughed as he settled in at the bar. Ronon furrowed his brow. Something was wrong, and the Satedan could feel it, too. He let his hand drop to hover over his stunner, feeling the same hum of tension pulsing through him as the Garou. A shadow moved, just out of the corner of his eye. Weylin whined, begging for attention, uneasy and nervous now. The shadow shifted, and Weylin grabbed a chunk of Lorne's BDUs in his teeth, tugging impatiently.

"Keep your shorts on," Lorne teased again, swatting at the Garou.

Weylin would have none of it. He snatched Lorne's P90 and pulled hard, hard enough to jerk Lorne to his feet. The major reared back, pulling his hand up to strike the Garou, but, as he did, the shadows building about them gave as the olive coats rushed them, grabbing at Lorne. Genii. A small group of former militantss. They tended to occasionally appear in roving gangs on Soren, and they would sometimes rouse a bit of trouble with the Lanteans. Yet Weylin was upon them in a heartbeat, swinging and slashing with those great, long claws, tearing through flesh and fabric but taking care not to bite with those pearly teeth of his. He drove the Genii off with little effort, sending them scuttling from the bar in haste.

Lorne blinked at the Garou as he proudly sat upon his hindquarters and shot an "I told you so" look at the major.

"Sorry."

Weylin ambled to him on those long, lanky limbs of his, shaking his head and tousling his shaggy, black fur. Ronon watched with intrigue as he settled down before Lorne, glaring through narrowed, honey gold eyes at the soldier. There was a tense moment, but Lorne simply reached up and stroked the soft, downy fur of Weylin's neck.

"Guess you're telling me I'd better get over my issues and learn to trust you." Weylin bobbed his head, and Lorne smiled slightly. "I'll try."

Weylin let out a hooting bark in agreement before slinking off.

xxxx

Lady Birkita Canagan sat upon her lavish throne at the side of Turali Sin'ai, decidedly not amused by the battle below. He had her dressed that morning in the finest of silk dresses, embroidered in elaborate designs of curled ivy tendrils and ornamented with small, beaded pearls, and all of that topped by a snug, white ermine coat that draped over her shoulders. However, the collar and the silver bell remained, while Sin'ai's hand draped over hers in a possessive gesture. These small things were all little signs to both her and to the Garou that she was a kept woman, held on a tight leash by her lord, Turali Sin'ai.

Below them, the Garou fought. Blessed by their Lady, they fought with added ferocity, Ar'kahl at the lead. He tore through the other Garou, slashing at them and drawing first blood with lightning speed. It was a sick, grotesque display that turned Birkita's stomach.

Sin'ai leaned close. "They honor you."

As Ar'kahl swung about on those muscular haunches of his, he easily swatted one of the smaller Garou with a meaty paw. The blow drew blood from the sheer swiftness and brunt force, splattering crimson upon the arena sand so dark it appeared black in the night, like a thick oil slick. The strike sounded with a hideous snap to her ears, even about the din of the crowds, the crack and crunch of mangled bone and elastic cartilage.

"They fight better when you watch," Sin'ai purred in her ear. "Much more profitable."

Two of the younger Garou hauled one another away from the main fray. It was unclear which had drawn first blood, but both were covered in crimson slashes. They snarled and snapped, wrestling with one another in the sand, driven mad scent of blood upon the night. It happened, but, no matter how often, it still horrified the girl to no end to see her kin pitted against one another so needlessly

She tensed as his hand stroked down her thigh and a leer spread across his face. "Isn't this so much better, sitting up here with me than being down there with them?"

Birkita shuddered but did not answer; fortunately, put off by her coldness, Sin'ai asked nothing more. Nor did the albino look away; she could not look away, not even as Ar'kahl, in a blood rage, ripped through one of the smaller Garou with his teeth. The body twitched and shook in its last death throes before retaking a human skin, while Ar'kahl merely howled in victory, a piercing blast of sound that curdled the blood in her veins. This was her sin, her crime, and she would not turn away.

xxxx

Sheppard scrambled to his feet expectantly as the Garou began to file down, far more beaten and bloodied than they had in weeks. He watched as each of them dragged in, waiting for her. His heart lurched and throbbed painfully in his chest, harder and faster with each passing Garou that was not Birkita. His breath caught when Ar'kahl returned last, carrying his prize of rabbit carcasses held by their back legs in a bundle. Sheppard sank to his heels, still looking to the hall as the Garou smacked upon the fresh meat, yet she did not return.

He curled up on the cold stone, hugging himself for warmth until the Wraith and Sin'ai's guards came for him.

xxxx

The room felt ill. It was well appointed enough, with gold enough gold filigree to both dazzle and dizzy the senses, and an array of bright, bold patterns upon the clothes, tapestries, and tiles of exquisite, exotic flowers. A fire snapped and popped upon the hearth, bright, warm and cheery as it illuminated the room in an orange glow. The cold din of this frozen tundra filtered in through colored class windows, as though the stained glass could somehow filter out the arctic conditions outside that threatened to shatter the illusion of a tropical paradise. Yet the wind howled incongruously, and, beneath all that, the room stank of sweat and stale sex, ruining any illusion of perfection.

Sheppard flushed at the scent, dropping his head as the Wraith fixed a heavy collar about his neck attached to a long chain that was secured to a wide, thick ring bolted into the floor. It was embarrassing to be collared and chained so like a dog, but what choice did he have? His wounds were still fresh and aching, and he was both outnumbered and outgunned by Sin'ai's guards, even without considering the Wraith. They left him there, shackled up like that, and, when Sheppard mustered the nerve to explore, he found that they were secure enough to leave him like that because there was nothing within reach of the chain that could be possibly be construed as a weapon or tool.

He sighed and sank down upon a pile of pillows and blankets that seemed intended for him, savoring the softness of it after so long upon the cold stone of the catacombs below. In time, he found himself dozing, drowsed by the warmth of these quarters and the plush bed beneath him. Sheppard allowed himself to sleep, unsure of when he might next get any sound rest. His dreams were plagued by the wolves, so many wolves, dark and pressing upon him as they threaded between one another to circle him in taunt.

He awoke later, when a door creaked open and one of the tapestries lifted to reveal Turali Sin'ai slipping from a second room with Lady Birkita at his arm. Sheppard froze and watched in cautious silence as the albino stiffened tensely and as Sin'ai leaned affectionately close to her. He whispered a few things to her, sweet nothings judging by his expression.

Sheppard caught a small bit of what Sin'ai said, "... call it a reward, for good behavior."

Then, the nobleman brushed past her, leaving the room through the door Sheppard had been dragged through. The colonel rolled over to hide his own expression as Sin'ai passed him. The door slammed soundly, and Sheppard heard the tell tale hiss and metallic clink of a hefty bolt sliding home.

Birkita stepped lightly across the room to Sheppard and knelt down to curl up behind him, wrapping her arms about him and saying nothing as she did. Sheppard tensed from the contact but relaxed upon seeing the pale hands snaking about him protectively. He eased once more even as her forehead pressed gingerly between his shoulder blades. He felt her quiver through those small points of contact, shivering against him despite the warmth of this room. She felt abruptly small and child-like against him, more befitting of her youth and the age disparity between them.

Sheppard reached down and took her hand, squeezing it as he spoke softly yet sternly. "You don't have to do this."

"If I don't, he'll kill you."

Sheppard winced but sighed and shook his head. "You're just a kid. You shouldn't have to do this." He paused, turning the words over in his mind. "I'm not worth it, Birkita. Not this."

"I decide what I'm worth," Birkita growled, but without her usual ferocity.

The colonel bit his lip. "But what if…. well, you know, you get pregnant from him? What then?"

"That won't happen," Birkita stated dryly with an uncomfortable laugh.

Sheppard frowned. "You don't know that."

"Sheppard, I'm albino," Birkita answered, her voice catching oddly before she went on slowly and carefully, as though speaking to a child even as she buried her head between his shoulder blades. "I'm sterile."

Sheppard pursed his lips together and gave another, imperceptible shake of his head. "Still not worth it."

Birkita loosed a tiny sound, and the colonel realized with a start that she was crying as she spoke, "It's my body; I'll decide who and what is _worth _it."

"Birkita…."

She tensed against him, squeezing him with a tenderness yet a near inhuman strength, as though clutching to him held her close to what little fragments of humanity lingered in her. "Sheppard?"

"Yeah?"

"Just shut up, okay?" she ground the words out, both hurt and angry at the same time.

Sheppard nodded, understanding. "Okay."

**XXX**

**XXXXX**

**XXX**

**Author's Notes : **Yeah, it's been a while, and, yeah, it's not as much of an action chapter as others, but I was hoping a little additional chapter length would make up for those facts. But, no, I haven't stopped writing. I'm just rotating stories, _and _trying to pass both Vertebrate Zoology and Calculus 2 (the devil's math, IMHO).


	18. Sinking Solo

**FEAST OF THE SAMHAIN – SINKING SOLO**

"_It's a game," _John Sheppard reminded himself bitterly as swathes of ivory fabric slipped between his fingers.

He had spent the first week after Sin'ai left him with Birkita searching for a way out, for a weapon, for anything they could use to escape. However, after that first narrow miss what seemed so long ago, Sin'ai was more careful. He kept Sheppard locked and shackled at all times and enlisted a heavily armed squad of guards to keep vigil on both the colonel and Birkita at all times, ensuring that the Lantean kept in line with whatever the nobleman demanded. Even when the games on that frozen tundra were over and done with and they gated to another world, there no openings left for them. Sheppard slowly came to accept that, even with several changes of venue, they would need both an exceptional amount of luck and a grievous misstep on the part of the guards in order to secure a means of escape for a second time.

"_Just a game."_

It was a game, one which he and Birkita played daily to keep themselves aloft and mobile during the long weeks past her bittersweet trade upon that icy world. The name of the game, quite simply put, was "Let's pretend this isn't killing us as much as it really is." The rules were simple enough as they distracted one another with modest games and jest.

Their life sat poised upon a precarious knowledge that Sheppard did not share with his unlikely benefactor; these small, trifling gestures were entirely necessary diversions. The colonel had been in enough survival situations to know that, contrary to anything McKay might argue otherwise, the most important tool at his disposal was, in fact, a positive mental outlook. More people had been killed simply by losing the will to continue on, even if rescue was within reach and simply just out of sight. This was that most deadly of games that Sheppard and Birkita played on a daily basis, keeping their spirits up enough to keep the will necessary to keep searching for a way out.

The mornings were easier to make the game work. Sin'ai left Birkita alone in the mornings with Sheppard, in the private quarters afforded to her on whatever world they were on. Each day, they dragged through the motions together, commenting idly on almost anything, meaningless drivel to fill the emptiness of the hours that sprawled between sleep and Birkita's obligations. They smiled their fragile, brittle smiles that could fly away and shatter into infinite tiny pieces at any moment as they shared pointless jokes and frivolous anecdotes to pass the quiet mornings. They ate a breakfast brought to them by Sin'ai's guards and complained in snide tones about the culinary prowess of whoever made it. The colonel swapped military stories for what little tales of the Garou Birkita would spare. In those meager ways, it was somehow simple to live in the lie that they were alright.

The afternoons, however, proved to be more of a chore. In the afternoons, Sheppard helped Birkita prepare herself for the night, no matter how he loathed it. While she bathed and groomed herself, he did the only thing he could do to kill those painfully barren spans of time; lie out clothes for her. His ex-wife had often accused him of having a horrid sense of fashion and being completely color blind, and Sheppard took some small delight when Birkita seemed inclined to agree, judging by how she poked her tongue between her teeth at some of his more tasteless selections. He began intentionally selecting clashing colors and garish patterns from her ample wardrobe as he had on the oft occasion for his wife as a joke. It brought them some small, fleeting laughter and lightness to those trying days, and, for that, Sheppard kept his attempts up.

Sheppard made a joke of it, yes, yet he could not shake the feeling as he helped the albino slip into those clothes that he armored her. He argued with her daily, pleading and going so far as to beg her not to go, protesting that he could survive the pit, but she would hear nothing of it. It felt wrong, sickening even, sending any woman regardless of her age to make such a trade for his life. If he could have, he would have clad her in steel and heavy mail to protect her from Sin'ai's lecherous advances, yet all the colonel had to safeguard her with were those gossamer fine silk garments, paper thin and delicate as dragonfly wings and unspoken prayer murmured when he knew she could not see.

Birkita departed every afternoon in the late afternoon on whatever world they were taken, when the sun dipped low to salute the horizon with a golden shimmer. She never spoke of where she went, but Sheppard knew. Once dressed and properly attired, Sheppard knew what she was intended for, to be both a high class courtesan for Sin'ai and bait for the Garou to keep them in line. She left in silence and returned near dawn, curling up beside Sheppard in the darkness on the floor, smelling of fevered sweat.

Alone, Sheppard spent his time in continued search for anything to their aid, yet as months bled together in an endless blur, there was nothing, until, one evening, out of the blue, the guards unshackled him and dragged him along in her wake.

xxxx

Turali Sin'ai was nothing if not an exceptionally gifted businessman. In his youth, he had discovered the secret to success – always stay ahead of constantly swaying hearts of the public. His business ventures had started quite simply with small trade here and there before stumbling upon the unique opportunity in events organizing, dovetailing into hosting fighting matches here and there.

That had parlayed quite easily into the opening of his first, rather humble pit. It had been a woefully under-sized thing, seating a maximum of two hundred souls in attendance of any event. The arena its self had only spanned ten meters, hardly capable of servicing anything more than single combat. Sin'ai under-estimated the drawn of the blood and violence of the pits, thinking that would be more than sufficient capacity for at least a year or more. Yet that first arena had borne a strange fruit, and, within just a few matches, Sin'ai's games became _the _event to attend among noble and peasantry alike. Within five short weeks of opening that pathetic small place, Sin'ai was forced to expand.

The money was undeniable. Ticket sales, gambling, everything. And all that commerce filtered directly to Turali Sin'ai. It was an enormous profit, even granted the growing expenses of acquiring worthy fighters to send to their deaths when he saw that it was the blood and the spectacle of it that enthralled the crowds so.

Since then, there had been several imitators. Sin'ai did not blame nor hate them. In truth, Turali felt that even the smallest measure of competition was a good thing. He felt it invigorated both the blood and the business. The imitators never measured up to Sin'ai's game, and, yet, their minute pressure continually forced him to endeavor to find newer diversions to appease the crowds, scouring the galaxy for all sort of new creatures to put in the pit. The Wraith at his side made Turali Sin'ai legend, while the Garou made Sin'ai untouchable. After that, Sin'ai became the Lord of the business, building pits on worlds throughout the universe, both public and underground depending upon local laws.

And, over it all, Sin'ai kept careful books. Maintaining a vigilant eye upon the flow and ebb of money through his domain assisted in keeping ahead of the trends by spotting the more subtle dips in profit before any substantial losses were incurred. As such, he had noticed the rather great rise in popularity when John Sheppard, the infamous Lantean, stepped into the arena, even if he did prove less than a successful combatant when measured against one of the Garou. Sin'ai sniffed hotly; he supposed it said something about the popularity of a hero. As such, Turali Sin'ai felt it smart to test the waters one evening by drawing Sheppard forth, if only to make a brief appearance after all his months in seclusion.

As the Lady Birkita stepped nimbly to his side, the guards shoved Sheppard into the box behind her, careful to make a display of the Lantean as they forced him to his knees. The Lantean gave a token struggle, but Sin'ai's Wraith easily quelled that with the swift application of just a tiny measure of force. The result was instantaneous. A momentary hush fell upon the crowd, a tiny lull before the first fight was underway.

Sin'ai preened; John Sheppard could be an extremely profitable commodity if such a reaction were any indication.

As the evening's fights progressed to the Garou's deadly dance, he glanced to the albino at his side, the icy Lady Birkita. She stiffened instinctively under his gaze. Sin'ai beamed; he _liked _her spirit, the wilderness behind her eyes and the untamed heart lurking deep within her. It meant that he had done the impossible to keep her so still and calm at his side, like taming the swelling maelstrom. And he alone had done it.

Her gaze flickered to the man kneeling at her side, to Sheppard. The albino did it so motionlessly that she might have thought Sin'ai did not see it. Had he not been staring directly at her, Sin'ai might not have noticed the tiny softening to her stony gaze. Sheppard. Her weakness. Sin'ai grinned from ear to ear. It was almost too marvelous to be true.

xxxx

Sheppard felt Sin'ai's gaze upon him the entire evening; he ignored it stoically, holding his head high and staring impassively over the Garou as they battled in the pit. It was a strange affair torn right from the pages of Roman history. Sin'ai's great pit was something of a spectacle, with fights and exhibitions designed to thrill. There were several fights that evening between several warriors and among exotic, wild animals that defied the imagination.

The colonel felt disgust coiling in his stomach as the sand of the arena stained the varied colors of blood of several species, yet the bloodshed served only to enthrall the crowds gathered that night. They shrieked in delight whenever a crippling or killing would was dealt, their voices rising in one, tumultuous exultation. He thought for a moment, that no Earthling could be so cruel and sadistic as to take any pleasure in the suffering of so many, but, then, he remembered, with a shiver, the dog and cock fights on Earth. He thought of the gentlemanly wagers of boxing matches, of the ravenous fans of the gargantuan, neon spandex clad behemoths of the all too fake wrestling. Sheppard recalled the various websites and viral videos that catered to the grotesquely macabre. No. For as much as he liked to pretend otherwise, equal potential lingered within Earthlings to savor this carnage. It sickened him to acknowledge such truths.

Sheppard glanced to Birkita between rounds. She sat frozen at Sin'ai's side, allowing the nobleman to reach aside to her and trace his fingertips along her pale arm as she stared out vacantly at the proceedings below. His stomach turned again at the thought of what the albino gave these long weeks as he slowly healed from the pit fights. Now, only raised, puckered pink scars remained on him where jagged, angry wounds remained, and, yet, Birkita remained at Sin'ai's side even still for Sheppard. He turned his head away in shame as the arena was raked smooth and clean between matches of the gore and fallen.

Then, the Garou strode out, lead by Ar'kahl. The now solidly alpha male stood tall and proud, his chin jutting out as he stepped out into the arena. He held himself aloof over the others as he moved with the surety of a true alpha wolf. His eyes flashed golden in the light as he stepped and revolved slowly upon his heel. The crowd ate it up and shrieked in delight, especially when the Garou took their wolf pelts and went after one another – all but Sheppard.

Sheppard turned his attention away as the Garou tore one another apart to the crowd's delight.

xxxx

Turali Sin'ai practically walked on air as he returned to his quarters that evening from his pet's private suite. The response to the Lantean's appearance had been overwhelming, and he could not wait to spy his accountant's report of the evening's take. As always, the final tallies had been set upon his desk, ready for his final approval. Sin'ai grinned madly from ear to ear as he surveyed the report. Profits were up by at least 13% when compared to previous events from even the simple non-combatant appearance of John Sheppard. Granted, it was nowhere near the almost double profits of John Sheppard battling in the pit, but it was a significant enough anomaly to draw his attention.

Turali Sin'ai sat back, putting his feet up on the table and resolving to be sure to have John Sheppard on his knees at his and Lady Birkita's side from now on.

xxxx

After that first, strange night, Sheppard accompanied Turali Sin'ai and Lady Birkita for the matches each and every night. That first night, Sheppard could not watch, but, slowly, he began to stare down into the pit as the nights passed, one blurring into another while each day continued to sap the hope from him.

He chewed his lip in thought as he watched the Garou now, from a distance. He had never truly watched these creatures in both wolf skin and human as they fought in the pit. Now, the colonel watched with a critical eye, surveying how they move and fight. They are sharp and swift, perfect killing machines, single minded in their attacks. The Garou were swift and nimbly creatures, impossibly strong and cunning. Only a fool would willingly step into the path of an embittered Garou.

Something caught Sheppard's eye though, on that night, something he had not seen before. As the Garou leapt and swatted at one another, slashing through the air with meaty paws and gnashing, pointed teeth, they moved carefully. Their attacks were daring, yes, yet decidedly calculated, particularly at the beginning of the match. Teeth and talons met limb and tail more often than they found the soft, vulnerable flesh of the neck and belly. Aside from an occasional side squabble that escalated to the furious dog fights that Sheppard had grown so accustomed to seeing in the lesser developed worlds, this was as practiced and strategic a fight as fencing or sparring. It was physical, yes, impressively physical. To the untrained eye, it seemed an entirely wild frenzy, but Sheppard had been training with Ronon and Teyla long enough to know better. The Garou did not actively wish to flay one another alive, as he had initially thought. Instead, they lashed out to draw first blood and nothing more, if possible.

Even Ar'kahl did not strike to kill, if possible. Instead, the hulking Garou initially moved quickly about the edge of the main fray. He moved with intense focus, snapping at any who drew near and waiting for the Garou to pair off in smaller, petty one-on-one squabbles. Then, he tucked low and dove in, snatching one of the more distracted combatants by their back hock and tossing them carelessly aside. It worked to oust at least three of the Garou from the fight easily and with little to no lasting damage before they seemed to notice the tactic and turn on Ar'kahl before he could make his move. It was smart, very smart.

The image of "professional" wrestlers and masked luchadores in their garish costumes filtered through John's mind once more. There was a movie about that once with Mickey Rourke. John had been meaning to watch it but never got around to it. He wished, now, that he had seen it, as a tiny thought began to germinate in his mind. It could work.

However, as soon as the thought fully formulated, the smaller, weaker Garou turned as one on Ar'kahl that the Alpha truly lunged at them in anger. Then, his attacks became reckless and violent beyond compare. His aggression was a frightening thing as he thundered through them, striking fiercely and delivering solid, crushing blows. He raged that these lesser wolves would turn teeth on their leader. John's blood ran cold at the sight of the blood Ar'kahl so easily spilt upon the arena.

In the end, it was Ar'kahl who stood the clear victor, lifting his muzzle and howling to bare those razor sharp fangs of his. Should John's plan fail and those teeth find him…. he shuddered to even think about it. But, upon looking to the pale child at his side who had already given so much for him, John knew it was a risk he had to take if he were to ever live with himself.

xxxx

Sheppard waited that night, as he did every night for someone to emerge from the bedroom to Birkita's suite after Sin'ai took his pleasure. This time, however, he did not wait for the Garou. Instead, he waited for Sin'ai himself. He stared at the door, desperately and rather unsuccessfully trying to shut his ears to the soft, hushed sounds coming from the other side of those sturdy doors as Birkita sold herself in exchange for his life.

When someone did emerge finally slip from the other room, it was the albino Birkita. Sheppard bit his tongue. She couldn't know, for she would never let him do what he planned. No. John Sheppard was no fool, and he had no intentions of letting the girl know until absolutely necessary. He had no doubts that, if Birkita ever found out his plan before he could act upon it, she would do anything in her power to keep him from executing it, even if that meant crippling him herself to protect him. It sobered the colonel to acknowledge the fact that she had the inhuman strength of the Garou to do so at the drop of a hat, the same sheer power that John watched nightly in the pit.

Sheppard said nothing as the albino flopped down beside him in what had become their corner, no matter the world. He glared, instead, as Sin'ai strode from the other room and left them. Sheppard would wait until such time as he held Sin'ai's ear and his alone, well away from Birkita. Then, and only then, would he dare make his offer.

xxxx

Days passed, slowly turning to weeks before Sheppard finally had his opportunity to speak with Sin'ai without Birkita. In truth, it took close to five full weeks before Sheppard found an opportune moment. During those long, listless weeks, they traveled to four different worlds, not a one of them even slightly familiar to the Lantean. It was for the best, though, for it offered Sheppard's wounds time to fully heal and gave him additional time to begin to work out in the limited time he found himself alone.

He continued to quest for an opening for escape in that time but found none. Turali Sin'ai kept Sheppard on a tighter leash now, for however impossible that seemed. He posted more guards about the colonel, keeping him under lock and key at all times. Escape seemed less and less of a viable option as each day passed.

The fourth world felt a crushing blow to Sheppard. It had been a world astonishing similar to Earth, yet utterly different. Towering skyscrapers stretched to the heavens where they pierced the clouds in sharp spires and antenna arrays. The architecture was sleek and streamline, as though pulled up from taffy and twisted into elegant, metallic shapes with perfect seams that glittered in the sun and shone beneath the twin moons. The buildings bore an eerie resemblance to the Atlantis skyline, enough so that it made the colonel ponder if these were closer descendants to the Ancients than Earthlings. When Sheppard caught a breath of fresh air, it was fresh and damply chilled, laden with a slightly saltiness that suggested a nearby ocean or sea. It drew up fresh pangs of homesickness in Sheppard for Atlantis, for his home.

The spectators, however, were the worst part of that world. They came decked out in their finest. The men wore neatly pressed and starched business suits, complete with silken ties wrapped about their necks and knotted precisely at the base of their neck. Bright, cheery dresses draped elegantly about ladies topped with near ridiculous bonnets piled high with flowers, bunts of ribbon, and even faux birds. It reminded Sheppard of old photographs from the Kentucky Derby of the twittering upper-crust gleefully shrieking as powerhouse horses like Citation and Secretariat bore down the homestretch of Churchill Downs. However, these crowds bore what appeared to be their world's equivalency of cellular phones and digital cameras, along with all sorts of other devices that the colonel could not identify. It sickened Sheppard to spy a civilization so seemingly advanced and cultured could be just as bloodthirsty and violent as the lesser worlds Sin'ai took them.

Birkita had been restless that morning and tense in a way that Sheppard had not seen in her previously. She had paced nervously, wringing her hands, occasionally sitting only to rise and continue pacing shortly thereafter. She had been quiet, sullen, and irritable, snapping at the Lantean when he tried to stimulate more pleasant conversation in the morning. Turali Sin'ai left the albino to her quarters that night, seemingly reluctantly, but his Wraith came for Sheppard. John had not understood until that night as the Garou took to the pit and as the two moons of this world slowly broke the horizon.

"Full moon," he whispered to himself.

It was, in fact, twin full moons, to be precise, and it had a distinct impact upon the Garou. They were wild that night, raging at one another. Sheppard watched in horror as they leapt at one another, lashing out and drawing more than simply first blood. His stomach turned when a thoroughly enraged Ar'kahl tore right through the neck of one of the smaller Garou, crunching down upon the trachea and rending the flesh as easily as a little rabbit. His stomach lurched when one Garou's tooth caught upon the soft underbelly of another and tore until the viscera tumbled out and spilled down to the soft loam of the arena. Even the crowd gasped audibly at the sight, clearly appalled. The two corpses gave convulsive twitches, shuffling loose their wolf pelt to retake human skin in death. A few of the spectators even vomited at the sight, even as the Garou fought on, maddened by the full moons and unable to quell their natural, predatory instinct.

Sheppard glanced to Turali Sin'ai. The noble seemed ill at ease, gripping the arms of his chair. He did not look sickened by the bloodshed. Instead, his pinched expression was one that John Sheppard knew well; it was the same tight scowl that his father wore when expecting a loss on the stock market or some business venture. Sheppard could almost see the nobleman calculating what exactly the drop in profit would be from this evening both from the souring of the crowds by the deaths and from the future loss in events by having a smaller group of Garou fighting. Sheppard did not yet understand the profit model of this world, but he understood well enough that less Garou made for less thrill and, thus, less profit.

It was almost too perfect of a moment, an opportunity Sheppard could not pass up. As the Garou continued to circle and squabble below, Sheppard shifted his weight ever so slightly to his side, slowly crossing the distance between his place kneeling on the floor to the side of Sin'ai's plush throne. The Wraith snarled under his breath when Sheppard drew too near, but Sin'ai spied the colonel and waved his pet off with a quick, fickle flick of his wrist before returning his attention to the arena.

Sheppard licked his lips. He had never voluntarily spoken to Turali Sin'ai before. It was beyond his principles. He never voluntarily spoke to anyone who kept him captive, if only because he always felt it would leave himself open and exposed for anyone to take advantage of him. It made it harder, then, to offer himself to Turali Sin'ai's whim by his own free will, but, when he thought of Birkita, of what she gave for him each and every night, it crystallized his need to do this.

He drew a deep breath, stilling himself, and made his move as smoothly and coolly as possible. "Looks like you'll be taking a loss on this one."

Sin'ai gave a small huff before conceding, "Nothing that cannot be recovered from." He shrugged his shoulders, as though shrugging the financial loss off as well before smiling with the casual slickness of a seasoned used car salesman. "Besides, notoriety like this cannot be purchased." He sneered directly at Sheppard. "And why should you care?" When Sheppard gave no answer, Sin'ai grinned from ear to ear like a Cheshire cat, settling his gaze right upon the colonel. "What do you want?"

Sheppard was taken back by the direct accusation. He had been expecting to emphasize the loss, the gory mess in the arena below that seemed to continue to horrify some of the ladies. He had planned, then, to butter up the nobleman before making his offer.

"I don't…"

The nobleman's face went stone serious, and he glared. "Come now. I've been in this business far too long to know when someone wants something of me. So…. out with it." When Sheppard said nothing, Turali Sin'ai glanced to the thinning group of Garou remaining in combat. "Now, so we can settle this affair without any other… distractions."

The colonel swallowed and dipped his head slightly. "I could go back to the pit."

Sin'ai hooted, rolling back in his chair and laughing haughtily. "You? Go back to the pit?" He wiped a single tear away from his eye. "You only surveyed the pit before two of those beasts chose to protect you. Why? I don't know, but they did."

"You pitted me in unfair fights," Sheppard growled tightly through clenched teeth.

"Granted, granted," the older man nodded. "But fair fights are rarely profitable."

Sheppard balled his fists, controlling himself, forcing himself to remember that this was not for him, but for Birkita. "You put me up against two ton monsters."

"And you were lucky to live," Sin'ai commented smugly. "Come now, be serious." He surveyed the crowd and shook his head. "You're a long term investment. A match with you would be exceptionally profitable, yes, but it would be only a short term gain, considering you'd never set foot out of that pit alive. I'd far rather the smaller, consistent gains yielded from your continued presence at matches. People have been coming from all around just to see you, even if it is from a distance and even if you don't move a muscle."

Sheppard bit the inside of his lip and, then, insisted, "What if I told you I could make it out of the pit alive?"

"I'd tell you that you were a bigger fool than your fans."

Sheppard tightened, coiling inside; he ground out, "Give me a chance." He drew a deep breath and continued, "I'll go to the pit – willingly and with the Garou - and I'll give you a _real_ show."

Sin'ai nodded slowly, contemplatively as another of the Garou tumbled from the fray and lie still but did not retake human skin. "And what would do you want in return?"

"You never lay a finger on Birkita ever again."

Sin'ai chortled once more. "Ah, such chivalrous values. To be so young and so foolishly idealistic once more." He settled and fixed his gaze on Sheppard. "Alright, then." He extended a wrinkled yet smooth and pampered hand to shake Sheppard's. "We have an accord."

Sheppard eyed Sin'ai's hand skeptically. "How do I know you'll hold up your end of the bargain?"

"I am a man of my word," the nobleman purred delicately. "I shall be nothing but a perfect gentleman to your Lady." With that, John reluctantly shook his head, but Sin'ai clamped down upon his hand sharply and jerked him close. "But, if you do not uphold your side of the bargain, you will pay dearly for it." He gestured with a nod of his head to the Wraith, "My associate here does not hold you in high regard and would like nothing more than my permission to take you and make you suffer. If you fail to deliver…." Sin'ai trailed off for but a moment, just long enough for Sheppard's imagination to fill in a few blanks. "Well, then, I'm he and I can come to an arrangement."

Sheppard gave a quick tug of his hand, pulling himself from Sin'ai's grasp. "You won't have to."

Sin'ai returned his gaze to the arena as the crowds took their feet once more to hail their champion, Ar'kahl as the massive wolf lifted his head to loose a feral howl that rattled through the stands and raced down Sheppard's spine with an icy chill. The Alpha male tottered over the fallen, snapping his jaws and dancing over them in victory. The wolf's dark pelt glistened in the light, thick and sticky with the blood of his fallen kin.

Sin'ai put on a slick smile and stood as well, politely yet blandly clapping his hands. "We'll see."

xxxx

That night, Sheppard's guards did not return him to Lady Birkita's quarters, nor down to the cell with the Garou. Instead, they ferried him to a cramped, little stone cell of his own, shackling him by the ankles to a wide, secure ring just beyond the bars of the cell and well out of his reach. In a way, the colonel felt grateful. This individual incarceration meant he did not have to face Lady Birkita nor be with the Garou as they continued to bicker in a far cell, just within earshot. He curled up on a stone pallet and sighed, knowing this was, in fact, the right thing to do. Now, if only he knew he could pull off the second portion of his plan as successfully as the first.

Upon dawn, when the Garou retook their human skin, Sin'ai's guards came for them, lumping Sheppard in with the other combatants. It was time to travel to another world, this time, judging by the fact that they were herded as one up to the pit. They stepped out into the arena as one, kept off to the side.

As the whine of the dart met Sheppard's ears in the distance, he glanced to the side and caught sight of Lady Birkita. She stood in shimmering, white silks ornamented with silver embroidery and accented by what seemed tiny jewels that sparkled in the light of dawn, catching the blushing pink of the morning. She looked to Sheppard and her features melted to an expression of concern and worry. She opened her mouth as the dart drew near, as though to ask a question from afar as Turali Sin'ai stepped close beside her. Sheppard merely shook his head, silencing her as the dart swooped over the lip of the arena and the culling beam swept them away to nothingness.

When the world came back into focus, Sheppard found they stood in a pit on some entirely different world, judging by the blinding midday sun, stifling heat and suffocating humidity. He coughed slightly, taken by surprise by the sudden change in climate. One of the Garou rumbled with a faint chuckle at his expense behind him, but Sheppard said nothing. Instead, he watched as Sin'ai escorted the increasingly worried Lady Birkita from the arena, a private grin upon his face clearly meant for Sheppard's benefit as he took her hand in a gentlemanly manner and nothing further. Birkita furrowed her brow, but went along wit him as Sin'ai's extensive guard personnel moved in to bring the captives down to the catacombs of this new arena.

Sheppard waited, walking alongside the Garou in silence down to the depths of this stone keep until the guards locked them in a single, group cell. He waited even then, from the safety of a far corner where he could put his back to a fall, as the Garou milled about. They seemed tired from the night before and perhaps a bit listless as they sulked about, maybe even regretful about the needless deaths in the pit. Sheppard watched them from a cautious distance as they began to slowly spread out to sleep for the day, his gaze staring though the Garou to Ar'kahl on the far side of the cell.

The towering blonde spotted Sheppard's notice and cocked his head to the side, a feral scowl spreading across his face. Sheppard did not look away. Instead, he met the Alpha's cold stare with his own, as though standing up to him, challenging the male in his own way. Ar'kahl folded his arms across his chest. Sheppard decided, then, to make his move with the Alpha, crossing the ground between them defiantly, proudly, his head held high.

"What do you want, Meat Bag?"

Sheppard smiled faintly, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. "Meat Bag… that's good. Very creative." He looked up to Ar'kahl and stated solemnly, "I just wanted to say I'm sorry about what happened last night." Ar'kahl lifted his lip in a low snarl, but Sheppard went on, "But that didn't have to happen."

"Could have fooled me," the Garou hissed through his teeth.

"It didn't," Sheppard pressed firmly. "They didn't have to die."

Ar'kahl's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. "We stay alive by fighting in the pit. People fight, and people die. That's just the way it is."

Sheppard shook his head. "No, that's just the way it's _always _been. It's not the way it has to be." He folded his arms across his chest. "What if I told you there was another way? A way where nobody had to get hurt, nobody had to die, and Turali Sin'ai could still get his little dog-and-pony show?"

That caught the Garou's attention. "Show me."

xxxx

Birkita paced nervously that day in the lavish quarters offered her. Something felt acutely wrong. Sheppard had been taken from her the night before, and she had not seen him until that morning, when they changed worlds. He had been with the other captives, shuffled among them as though a combatant in the pit. It made her heart leap far into her throat, but Sheppard had silenced her concerns from a distance with only a simple shake of his head. He did not return to her through the day, not even to help her dress for that night.

As the crowds began to swell in that circus of an arena, Sin'ai came for her with a polite knock upon her door, waiting outside for her to answer before bowing his head cordially to her. "M'lady."

"What is this?" she whispered fearfully.

"I have come to escort you to the pit fights tonight," Sin'ai purred, flashing a pearly white smile as he took her gently by the arm. "I have a great treat for you tonight."

Birkita tried not to consider the various possibilities in vain. Anything could have happened at the prior evening's matches while she spent the night cooped up in her quarters, naked but for her downy wolf pelt. Turali Sin'ai had been alone with Sheppard. Anything could have passed between them. Sheppard could have said or done anything to irk Sin'ai in her absence, and he could have drawn down any number of consequences upon himself. Her heart fluttered fearfully in her chest at the thought of him staked out in the arena for the Wraith, the Garou, or any of the unspeakable horrors Sin'ai managed to secure for the spectacles of his fights. Her head swam with the many possibilities, each worse than the last, as the nobleman escorted her to his private box.

As the Garou strode out to the arena, Birkita drew a sharp breath. Sheppard walked among them, striding out into the pit proudly, his head held high. She rose slowly, her jaw dropping until her mouth fell in a round 'o.' Yet Sheppard merely gave her a small wave and a tiny, reassuring smile.

"Lady Birkita, if you would honor your kin."

The albino glanced timidly to the nobleman at her side. It had been months since she had blessed the Garou before a fight, not since the first time Sheppard had been in the pit. Turali Sin'ai had not allowed her that small, passing grace. However, when she looked to him, he gestured to one of his guards, who bore a silver bowl, a small knife, a bottle of what seemed a red wine, and a sack with something inside that twitched and kicked and smelt of rabbit. Turali Sin'ai beamed broadly at her and dipped his head, bidding her to bless her warriors.

Overwhelmed, Birkita nodded numbly and descended along with two of Sin'ai's guards to the arena. There, she murmured the ancient words of prayer as she poured the wine into the silver bowl. Then, one of the guards opened the sack, and she reached in, plucking out a great, plump hare. She held it aloft, whispered the final words of blessing, and slit the creature's throat swiftly and efficiently, allowing the blood to collect in the silver bowl. She stirred the dark liquid with the tip of the knife and lifted the bowl. She took it and offered the mixture to each of the Garou along with the Moon's blessing, until she stepped up to Sheppard.

She leaned close to the Lantean over the silver bowl and whispered, "What are you doing?"

Sheppard offered a lazy, cocky smile in her direction as he lifted his hands to steady the bowl and bring it to his lips. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

"Suicide," she snipes as he sips a small bit of the blood and wine.

He lifts his head from the bowl, a single droplet of crimson rolling down to his chin. Sheppard smirks, rubbing it away with the back of his hand. For a single moment, the Lantean looked almost like one of the Garou in her eyes. Proud, steady, and cocksure, ready for anything Sin'ai could possibly throw his way. His eyes flashed just like a mischievous little puppy.

He breathed ever so softly, "Trust me."

Birkita bit her lip and continued down the line. She finished blessing the wolves and stepped back. There, she glanced once more to Sheppard before closing her eyes to drink the last of the wine. The alcohol warmed her heart only ever so slightly. She raised the bowl over her head and loosed a keening whole to the Moon, begging. It was all she could do for Sheppard now.

xxxx

When the Garou made their move, Sheppard was ready for them this time. There would be no taking him by surprise this time. He stepped easily and lightly, threading between them as the Garou shifted to various forms between wolf and man. Adrenaline flooded his veins to be surrounded by so many wild beasts, but Sheppard swallowed it back to focus on the plan. He moved with a purpose, as did the wolves, surprisingly enough.

Sheppard crouched down for just a second before springing into action, leaping at one of the smaller Garou. The lesser wolf yelped in surprise and rage and bucked as Sheppard tackled it to the ground, ignoring the other wolves about him. He snatched the Garou's slowly changing ears and gripped them hard before throwing his weight to the side. The colonel forcibly twisted the wolf's head to the side and delivered a driving punch right to the Garou's slender snout. A small splash of blood rewarded him for the effort.

Sheppard grinned from ear to ear and declared, "First blood!"

The Garou snarled, but Sheppard jumped from him and moved on to the next. He leapt to the back of this second Garou, riding it like a rodeo bronco through the area to the delight of the crowds. He struggled to keep hold of the Garou's pelt until the creature rolled its self, launching Sheppard from his back. Sheppard sailed through the air, landing on his back and immediately rolling over to meet his quarry as the offending Garou ran him down. He let the Garou pounce him, rolling onto his back and planting his foot soundly into the wolf's stomach, pushing off and kicking the beast off of him. The crowd roared in response as the creature tumbled to the ground.

The Garou lunged at him once more, but Sheppard swiftly and rather efficiently backhanded the wolf. Sheppard knew this would never have been an effective move, but he had an ace up his sleeve in a small shard of stone tucked between his fingers. That tiny, sharpened bit held just enough of an edge to make a neat, tidy little cut on the Garou's nose. The shapeshifter yelped but rolled away, conceding quickly.

A monstrous shadow pounded Sheppard to the ground before he could savor his victory, and Sheppard blinked to find a widely gaping maw filled with razor sharp teeth snapping down at him from behind a face that looked somewhat recognizable between long locks of blonde hair that were slowly receding in favor of wolf pelt. Ar'kahl. The bulky Garou opened his mouth wide, in what seemed a toothy grin. Sheppard reached up, frantically shoving at the Garou, trying to push him off. The two rolled, wrestling on the ground with one another like children.

Sheppard leaned into Ar'kahl and whispered into his ear, "Just like we practiced now."

Finally, the wolf knocked Sheppard down, pinning him with one, meaty paw. Ar'kahl reared up, looming over him and drawing his broad hand back, more beast than man now. Those pointed talons gleamed in the light of the pit as they came slamming down. Ar'kahl batted Sheppard aside, slashing the Lantean's cheek and knocking him aside with ease.

"SHEPPARD!" Birkita's shriek of horror cut through the night.

Ar'kahl let out a whooping howl before leaping off the fallen Lantean, sweeping through the arena in search of his next victim.

Sheppard sat up, instantly reaching to staunch the bleeding of the minor wound on his cheek. He immediately glanced up to Sin'ai's private box, to where the pale Lady Birkita stood, horror stricken by the fight. He poked his tongue out at the albino, as she seemed to let out a held breath. Sheppard climbed to his feet and strolled out of the arena, fit as a fiddle save a miniscule wound that could hardly be called a "boo-boo." Sheppard grinned, knowing now that it worked once that it could work again and again. No one needed to die; no one needed to suffer crippling injuries.

Never again.

**XXX**

**XXXXX**

**XXX**

**Author's Notes : **Yes, it's been a while, and yes, this chapter is kind of lame. I know, I know. And I have no excuses. Well, I mean, I do, and while they are the truth, they're all incredibly lame. So…. No excuses! Just enjoy. Sadly, no beta reader at the moment, and we all know that authors tend to read what they thought and not what the wrote. So….. sorry if there are any mistakes.


	19. Interlude

**FEAST OF THE SAMHAIN**

"No, no, no. You _cannot _be serious." Jack O'Neill rubbed his forehead, trying desperately to stave off the steadily swelling migraine building behind his eyes. "There has got to be some way to stop them." He begged of her, pleading, imploring her, "Lady, Birkita, you have to stop them."

Lady Birkita kept her cold, frozen gaze fixated upon Jack O'Neill, hissing through her teeth, "This is the only way my kind have survived so long unnoticed on Earth. They don't know any other way. They will follow the law until every human on this base or every last one of them is dead, whichever comes first. They will not stop."

"There has to be something you can do."

Lady Birkita closed her eyes and pursed her lips together, sudden appearing less like a noblewoman and more like a young lady, lost and alone in the world. "You don't understand."

O'Neill folded his arms across his chest. "Then, make me understand."

The albino shook her head, tousling her fair locks. "Even if we find a way to stop them from going to war, our laws do not allow halfbreeds." When she looked up once more and her eyes met his, they were glossy and pained. "They will demand we kill Ronon and Sheppard. And, if we don't, they will come for the halfbreeds."

"Well, that is just not in the cards," O'Neill argued crossly, already weary of these creatures and their secret laws which, in his all too humble opinion, made no goddamn sense.

"It is our Law."

The general scowled deeply. "So change the law."

"Don't you think I would if I could do it by myself? Don't you think I would if they would even _listen _to me right now?" Birkita snapped back, her body suddenly tense with barely constrained anger and nervous energy. She crushed her eyes shut and began to contemplate, rocking on her heels slightly and murmuring to herself, "Come on, Birkita, think. Think." She paced a few steps while O'Neill doggedly followed in her wake. "There's got to be something, some clause, some loophole in the Law."

"Well, you'd better find it, and you'd better find it fast. Your boy out there, what did he say his name was, Babineaux, isn't going to wait for long," O'Neill groused darkly. "And neither will the Air Force when they hear about this. They'll wipe out every last one of those dogs for what they did, even if it takes nuking the site." O'Neill shook his head, bitterly, his stomach twisting uncomfortably at the memory of the guards and Garou so efficiently slaughtered on the road by either side as he muttered, "They didn't even stand a chance, those boys. Not a chance."

"That's it!" Lady Birkita suddenly froze.

"What?"

When the Lady turned, it was as if she had born some incredible epiphany only she could see. "If you can't challenge the Law, challenge the man behind it." When O'Neill furrowed his brow, Birkita swiftly explained, "It is marshal law out there. All the Garou are being led by one man. If someone were to challenge his lead and win, we might be able to bring them to a summit and might bring them to reason."

"I don't like the sounds of all those 'mights' in there."

Lady Birkita utterly hastily, "I know. It's the only chance we've got of stopping this before it goes any further."

The general nodded, steeling himself. "Alright. I'll do it."

She laughed, honestly laughed, and, force once, O'Neill forgot the danger behind her. The Lady sounded like a child, like a haughty teenager. It was so easy to forget her youth, and equally as easy to forget how infuriating a young lady could be.

"What?" he fumed.

"You can't declare a challenge. Even if you could, do you really think you could win against one of my kind? I mean… look at you…."

O'Neill pursed his lips together. He had weathered many storms in his times and held his own in countless battles. The military had spared no expense during his storied career in providing the general with training in every possible form of combat, and Teal'c had supplemented that education over their years working together. However, the general knew as well as anyone else that the years had not been as kind to him as he often liked to think. He had aged like any other mortal man, replete with aching joints and climbing cholesterol. O'Neill could never fight a Garou in its prime in hand to hand combat and even hope to survive, let alone win.

He scowled, instantly knowing the only answer. "No."

"It's the only way."

xxxx

Swift as a bunny, Nodonn Cole scurried back up the mountain on all fours, following a narrow path little wider than a deer path that snaked up the mountain through the dense undergrowth. It felt good to run, to stretch, as though venting an immeasurable pressure that had been building within. He clawed at the cool, mellow earth, taking in the sights and sounds of the night, wishing desperately that the woods could go on endlessly into oblivion and not into the cold, unfeeling light of what promised to be a cruel dawn.

Garou were not meant to be as still, as stifled as Nodonn Cole has these years in the military. Centuries of evolution and breeding had curried a more primal creature than man in the Garou, creatures in need of sating their more primitive urges. By day, the Garou were of human skin and the petty politics that accompany such existence, but, by night, their true nature surged forward with teeth, claws, and a wild fancy to roam the night and savor the hunt. Few Garou had ever kept their sanity when faced by such a singular life of human existence as Nodonn had those long years.

The night spawned intoxicatingly before Nodonn after such time, yet he knew better than to tarry. He bounded up the mountain, scrambling for purchase along patches of loose shale that marred the ascent. Upward, the captain rushed until he came to the hollowed log that held his things.

There, Nodonn Cole set his parcel down and retook his human skin, no matter how it panged him to do so. He perched, naked, upon the rotting log, not caring as he tore into the garish, cardboard package with long, dirty fingers. The captain tossed the wrapping aside and worked swiftly to set the small device up before connecting it to his phone together and setting them gingerly upon the log. Nodonn aimed carefully and took two, graceful steps back and away from the thing.

Nodonn Cole held his breath. _This is crazy. This is treason. _He licked his lips, watching the device blink with a beady, red light. _They'll kill me. No matter how this ends. I'm a traitor. Court marshal with the humans or trial by teeth with the wolves. Either way. They'll kill me._

A howl pierced the night, jarring his thought, a war cry, he knew.

It steeled Nodonn's nerves enough for him to speak, albeit nervously, his voice wavering. "Hello…. I am Captain Nodonn Cole, and this is going to be kind of hard to believe…."

In the end, it was amazing how easily the truth bled from him and how unearthly relieved he felt to shed the years of lies.

xxxx

Weylin marveled at the sight before him in between checking on the human soldiers at the entry to the infirmary. He had never seen Sheppard so calm, so still, since his rescue. Yet, there, in Ronon's arms, the man remained, breathing slowly, easily, his eyes shut in natural slumber. He stirred occasionally, but not out of the pure, unadulterated terror that had held him for so long. It was out of restlessness and discomfort from his many injuries, not from panic. When Sheppard did move, the Satedan was quick to murmur gentle assurances and offer tiny, fleeting touches to his long hair, his shoulder, any place spared of injury to comfort the man.

A sudden commotion at the hall drew his attention and raised his hackles. The fur along the nape of his neck stood on end, and he lowered slightly. A growl rattled behind his jowls, sending the soldiers recoiling somewhat. Weylin preferred his half-skin sometimes, knowing it served better to frighten the humans than the more familiar imagine of his full pelt.

Ronon responded in kind to the abrupt shift in Weylin's behavior. His hold on Sheppard tightened, as he clutched tighter to his friend. Sheppard woke instantly, his eyes snapping widely open in fear as he drew a sharp breath. Ronon stroked Sheppard's long, dark hair, whispering to him as the man tried feebly to pull away from him. Yet the Satedan did held him effortlessly.

When someone did burst into the infirmary finally, it was Birkita with O'Neill following closely at her heels. Both Ronon and Weylin let out twin sighs of relief as Weylin retook his human skin. However, the albino did not seem to share their relief. Instead, she bore a look of worry that put the two men instantly on guard.

"Weylin," she gasped. "I need your help."

The Garou needed not ever think on the matter before responding, "Anything."

"I need you to issue a challenge."

xxxx

Sookie Babineaux had seen countless dawns in her long life, hardly paying any heed to them, but, for once, this dawn stopped her. Dawn came slowly to the mountain, beginning with a gradual lightening in the sky that gave way to pink blushing along the horizon. In time, golden rays crested the top of the range, honestly taking the old woman's breath away and stopping her dead in her tracks. She watched, then, as the sun slowly ascended, peaking over the tops of the mountains before climbing higher in the sky, blazing brightly as it did.

When Sookie did finally manage to stir herself enough to force her aching, creaking bones to move, it was to find Alain. Having outgrown youthful impulsion and vigor decades ago, she loathed this, all of this violence, this bloodshed. Yet, as the oldest living Law, it was her place to keep and hold their most ancient of laws and most treasured of traditions, even if this was to be the last day of the Garou.

Alain stood with another, one of the Fenrisulfr, surveying the field and listening as the fellow reported in. "It's done."

The packmaster gave a quick and, but, before he could issue any reply, a cellphone chirped from somewhere. Alain frowned and dug the offending item from his own pocket. A strange expression flashed across his features before the man schooled himself once more to stillness.

He answered curtly, stating only, "Babineaux."

Sookie had not initially intended to eavesdrop. Her own mother had taught her better than to listen in to other people's conversations. However, she could not keep her keen ears from pricking to the voice on the phone when it blurted out a hasty sentence.

"I challenge you!"

Sookie gasped, but Alain merely rolled his eyes, asking, "And who are you to issue any kind of a challenge?"

The voice on the phone introduced himself as formally as any proper Garou might. "Weylin Canagan of the Avoyelles."

Alain chortled, the sound rumbling in his throat. "Nice try. There are no more Avoyelles. How did you get this number?"

"That's the thing about hanging out with the military," Canagan teased sarcastically on the phone. "They have their ways."

Alain bobbed his head. "Ah. Working with the enemy, then? I don't have to listen to you."

He moved to close the phone, but Sookie snapped at him quickly, grabbing his arm. "No! A challenge." She glanced wildly to the Garou about them as all eyes drifted to their leader; the old woman hissed to them, "A challenge." Alain froze when the old woman glared at him once more, sharper than she had ever looked upon her kin in his life. "A challenge must be met. This is the law."

Alain sighed. "Alright, Weylin Canagan. You have your challenge. One hour." Babineaux hung up and called out, "Northman, stay close."

xxxx

It seemed impossible to think that any preparations need be made for a bare-knuckled brawl, yet the base scrambled to ready its self. Allowing for the challenge meant opening the North Portal and exposing the SGC to the threat of a direct advance from the Garou. It was a risk, but it was a necessary risk.

Birkita wished desperately it could be some other way as she watched Weylin quickly prepare himself. If she could fight, she would, but the laws were clear in this matter. Only an adult male could issue a challenge, no females. Female Garou were strong and swift, but males were larger, faster, and stronger than females. A male could easily cripple or kill a female in a challenge.

It might seem sexist, but the Garou had settled the matter of sexism within their ranks centuries before humans had ever contemplated that males and females might be equals in any matter. A delicate balance between the sexes had been struck so very long ago, that the history had fallen out of common knowledge. Males might hold positions of Teeth and packmaster, yet it was females who held the Law, who ensured that those titles were held justly. Birkita had listened to their social studies teachers explain the system of checks and balances between branches of government, but Garou children had a far better understanding of the matter than most human children, being so close to seeing such a system in direct action.

Weylin understood and made little fuss over it. He had fought many Garou in Sin'ai's pits and many other vile creatures in his term with Atlantis. The wolf hugged Birkita and whispered promises of his victory in her ear, though they seemed of little comfort. He placed a chaste kiss upon her forehead and smoothed her long, pale hair as Ronon watched uncomfortably.

"I'll be back before you know it," Weylin whispered for her ears only.

As Canagan strode to leave and greet the challenge, the Satedan could not stand it any more. He slipped carefully away from the slumbering Sheppard, murmuring gentle reassurances to the insensate, skeletal figure upon the bed. John stirred slightly, but slept held him.

"Birkita, can you keep an eye on him?" Ronon inquired.

The albino nodded, though perplexed.

"And just where do you think you're going?" Canagan demanded.

"I'm not letting you face them alone." Ronon smirked cockily. "Besides, you think I'd miss this party?"

xxxx

_Six years earlier:_

Sheppard waited and watched anxiously from his corner in the cell in the catacombs. It had been difficult to convince Ar'kahl that his plan could work. The monstrous Garou had not been entirely sure that the charade would ensure the safety of his fellow wolves. He had not entirely agreed to Sheppard's plan but had been willing to try it. The other Garou had only need be given the order from their leader. Now, as each of the Garou returned to the cell, the colonel felt his heart lighten and his body hum, especially as they returned in the precisely planned order.

It had taken hours to coordinate the match, meting out who would fight who, who would lose to whom, and how everything would unfold. The Garou had snapped and squabbled, but, under stern glares and sharp snaps from Ar'kahl, the wolves quieted enough to listen and follow. As a child, Sheppard had watched wresting matches, knowing full well how fake they were, but he had never realized the amount of work and planning went into producing a single, successfully entertaining fight. It had been an exhausting effort, but, eventually, the wolves had grudgingly come to a temporary truce with the lone Lantean until his plan proved fruitful.

When Ar'kahl strode back into the cell, it was bearing three whole, plump hares by their back legs and a mighty, toothy grin from spread ear to ear. He had won the match, just as Sheppard had planned. Otherwise, it might be more difficult to keep the other Garou in line with the plot; they might revert to their more aggressive, unpredictable nature and slay one another. Ar'kahl strode proudly, his chest puffed out as he approached Sheppard.

"It worked," the Garou growled, his voice little more than a low rumble of indeterminate emotion.

The Lantean nodded with a lazy, amiable smile. "Like a charm."

Ar'kahl shook his head and admitted in a strange huff, "Didn't think it would."

"But it did," Sheppard pressed petulantly.

The Garou took a menacing step forward, moving too close into Sheppard's space for comfort. He stood so close, that Sheppard could feel the strange, fever heat of Ar'kahl's kind honestly rolling from off his flesh. The colonel drew a breath silently but held both his ground and Ar'kahl's steady gaze. This was a test, a measure of dominance. The lesser of the two would back down, retreat and concede, but Sheppard had no intention of doing anything of the likes. Instead, he waited, patient as ever.

Ar'kahl cocked his head to the side and rubbed his chin in thought. "If it's going to work again... it can't ever be the same match. Sin'ai'll be onto that."

"No," John agreed cautiously. "It'll have to be different every time. Each and every time. We're going to have to work together."

The Garou leaned close enough that Sheppard could smell the musk about him. "For what?" He sniffed haughtily, every inch the alpha male he had earned the right to claim himself. "So we can keep scraping along? Keep making a go of this until Sin'ai and his audiences tire of us?"

He baited Sheppard. The colonel did not have the diplomacy skills of Elizabeth, but John knew well enough when he was being toyed with. Ar'kahl tested him, as surely as he might test any of his kind. In another lifetime and perhaps from a distance, John might have been mildly flattered to be taken in such equal measure as Garou, but, then, in Sin'ai's dank pit, it was nothing but annoying.

"Ideally, I was thinking we break out of here _before _Sin'ai gets tired of us, but, if you want to stay, that's all on you."

There. He had said it. Ar'kahl grinned oddly for a moment before nodding in assent. The Garou held out a hand to Sheppard, broad and strong. Sheppard clasped his and shook it, feeling the weight of the strange accord they now shared. Ar'kahl moved swiftly, jerking hard upon the human's arm and pulling him uncomfortably close.

"Alright, we'll try it your way," the alpha male breathed in Sheppard's ear. "But if you're ever bitten, I'll put your down myself."

A shiver ran down the Lantean's spine, but he swallowed and agreed. "Okay."

He had no other choice.

xxxx

Days blurred into weeks, which slowly turned to months. Each month, the full moon came, rising high in the sky and bringing with it the change to the two resident Garou on Atlantis. With every passing full moon, Ronon felt himself sinking deeper and deeper to despair. When each day and each world they visited in search yielded no sign of Sheppard, each full moon served as nothing more than a painful reminder of the Satedan's failures.

Each full moon passed in much the same way. Traveling between worlds left his body unable to fully adjust to the lunar cycles of Lantea. As such, the approaching full moons in Atlantis made Ronon increasingly irritable until the wane. The Lanteans tiptoed about the Satedan, mindful of his short temper, but few escaped his wrath during the week of the full moon. When those three nights finally came, Ronon spent each of them miserable, locked in his room, raking his talons down the inside of his door while the rest of the Lantean population shuddered at the sound.

Then, one afternoon that was sure to bleed into the wax of the full moon, Weylin, Lorne and Woolsey came for Ronon with orders to leave. The Satedan seethed in anger, but both the Lanteans and the Garou insisted. They packed nothing, brought nothing with them. Lorne flew them to the mainland shortly before dusk, setting the jumper down neatly on one of the soft, sandy beaches. He settled in with a good book and a thermos of coffee as the Garou and the halfbreed skulked out of the jumper.

Once outside, Weylin shuffled out of his uniform, gesturing for Ronon to due to same before turning to walk down the beach. Clad only in the last, dying golden rays of sun, the two strode along, stretching their toes in the sand. Ronon kept a sound distance from the Garou, gritting his teeth as they walked and refusing to utter a single word to the wolf at his side while he simultaneously promised not to enjoy this.

Eventually, twilight settled around them, draining the color from the world as the moon rose slowly, ripping the change from them. Weylin let out a wild howl, a loud, raucous sound that sang to the moon and the night about them as he took his full, dark pelt. Ronon held his tongue, stifling any such sound, despite the tiny, giddy shiver that tickled down his spine.

When Ronon glanced to the wolf at his side, Weylin cocked what seemed a grin, full of pointed, jagged teeth between those spittle flecked jowels. Then, before Ronon could do anything, the Garou took off, bolting down the beach and yipping playfully as he did, taunting the Satedan so. The halfbreed considered it for a moment before leaping after the Garou, chasing him down. Weylin led the way for some time down the dunes before tucking in and hurtling towards the lonely woods that lined the beaches. Ronon lunged after him, diving through the underbrush. While not as swift, nor as elegant as the purebred, he kept pace, always keeping Weylin in his sights as they ran.

He wondered briefly, as he ran down the Garou, why they should run so. Then, he knew. He knew it as adrenaline sang in his veins, and his heart thrummed in his chest. They ran for the joy of it, for the sheer, unbridled thrill of the run and the electric kiss of the night. They were wild creatures after all, things not meant for the stillness of human skin, for those tamed halls and polite manners. They were wolves, Garou, proud and strong, moving through the night like twin shadows. Weylin must have noticed, for he slowed, allowing Ronon to close the distance between them at a gentle lope, but, when Ronon caught up, he sped past the wolf, barking back at the dark shadow on the trail with him.

Weylin followed, but he did not try to pass the halfbreed. Instead, he hung close at Ronon's heels, keeping up without even attempting to run him down. The Garou's footfalls would have been silent to any other, but, to Ronon, they were a comforting patter upon the tender loam beneath them, a reminder of the Garou's protective presence.

A scent caught his attention, sharp and musky. Ronon paused and drank it in, inhaling deeply to taste the night and the myriad of aromas laden upon the damp, salty sea air. He swung about and pounced into the brush, rustling a small rabbit from its hide. Ronon hooted, chasing after the thing with Weylin before they allowed it to slip away while they turned into the forest once more.

Together, they ran through the night and into dawn.

They sat on the beach after the first glorious rays of the Lantean sun crested the sea and tore the change back from them. They soaked up the sun, drinking in the dawn. They stared out as the waves rolled gently to shore.

For the briefest of moments, Ronon actually felt good. It had been so very long since he felt anything but grief, so it came as some small, fleeting refreshment to just sit and watch the sunrise. That respite lasted for just seconds before guilt surfaced once more, slick and oily as it clung desperately to his heart and shattered those last remnants of any good feeling. How could he enjoy himself so when Sheppard was out there, somewhere in the universe, lost and likely suffering _because _of him?

"Why are you doing this?" Ronon murmured.

Weylin did not even turn his head, barely offering the Satedan a lazy nod. "Hm?"

Ronon sighed heavily and shrugged. "All of this. Me. Sheppard. Why are you doing this?" The Garou made a strange sort of sound in response, but the Satedan pressed. "Tell me, Weylin."

The Garou look away, dragging a finger through the sand to scroll looping, idle patterns. "You ever love a woman, Ronon?"

"Yeah. Melena."

"What was she like?" Weylin whispered softly.

Ronon closed his eyes and breathed, "She was…. Beautiful. She was my best friend. No, she was more than that. She was my everything." He opened his eyes and paused. "I can still see her, sometimes, if I really try."

"What happened to her?"

Ronon shook his head. "The Wraith happened, I guess."

"You guess?" Weylin asked curiously.

"The Wraith snatched me up, made me a runner for them like some kind of a game. I spent years on the run to keep from leading them back to my friends, to my family, to my Melena." Ronon curled his lip in distaste at the memory. "But Sheppard and his people, they found me. They saved me, took the Wraith tracker out of my back and got the gate address for Satedan. When we dialed up…. there was nothing. Satedan was gone. And Melena with it."

Weylin nodded to himself strangely before blurting out, "I love her."

"Your sister?"

The Garou smiled. "We have the same last name, yeah, but I never said she was my sister."

"You never said she wasn't either," the Satedan swiftly countered.

"Fair enough."

Weylin turned his gaze once more to the ocean, to the gentle swells and the laughing, cawing gulls taking to the wind. Ronon watched him for a moment. Weylin reminded the Satedan of himself, as the Garou held himself just as stoically as Ronon had for all these years.

"So…."

The younger man raised an eyebrow. "So what?"

"So, spill it."

The Garou sighed wistfully, a pained sound. "My Da worked in a mill until the economy went bust in the 80s and the work dried up. Vortigern and his kin ran a little bed and breakfast, so he took us it, gave my Mum and my Da a job." He sniffed, an odd sort of half-dead chortle. "Vortigern was like that, always taking in strays. Birkita and I ran together when we were kids, got into and out of all sorts of scrapes."

Ronon felt his own heart tug at the thought; Melena and he had been childhood pals, too.

"My Mum…." Weylin stopped hesitantly, collecting himself before continuing, "She was killed one night on a run. Poachers." Weylin's voice tightened, his throat constricting ever so slightly. "She didn't even see it coming. They didn't know, not until they got close and saw she was a person." He shook his head. "My Da ran them down, every last one of them. Then, he just waited."

"For what?"

"He was the Teeth. He knew the Law better than anyone else. 'You will not maim nor consume the flesh of any man.' The laws of my kind demanded his life, but Vortigern wouldn't do it, couldn't do it." Weylin shuddered, the memories still fresher than he had ever given any previous indication. "He waited for weeks for Vortigern to come and put him down before he put himself down."

Ronon winced. A part of him wanted to admire the honor of Weylin's father. Such honor, such pride, and such devotion were qualities much sought after and highly valued by Satedans. There were legends on Sateda or warriors fighting to certain death to save another or taking their own lives to spare their honor. Sheppard had confided that there were similar tales and legends on Earth. Yet Ronon could not abide the thought of leaving a child orphaned, honor be damned.

"Vortigern and Birkita took me in, adopted. I spent weeks moping around until she made me run with her." Weylin chuckled at the thought. "She kissed me that night, just once, on my cheek, and I knew I loved her, even if I can't have her."

"Daddy's girl?" Ronon teased, ribbing at the Garou.

"Naw." Weylin plucked a small, round snail shell from the sand and considered it briefly. "She's the Anput, and I'm…." The younger man hurled the shell to the surf. "I'm nobody." Weylin shrugged. "I'd still go to hell and back for her, though."

Ronon sighed and returned his focus to the sea, not certain if Weylin's answers brought him any measure of comfort.

**XXX**

**XXXXX**

**XXX**


	20. A Darker Movement

**FEAST OF THE SAMHAIN**

It took nearly the entire hour to procure the necessary supplies for a challenge. The Garou were a society of rigid social protocol not to be breached under even the most extreme of circumstances. Customs must be kept, and the appropriate offerings must be made. Sookie Babineaux would not be the first Law to forgo the demands of their mistress, the Moon, nor their great culture.

Oddly enough, finding a red wine was the easy part. The wine heralded from a half-bottle of stale, rank Night Train Express, offered up by one of the Thule. He had brought it with him for "liquid courage." It was little more than grape-flavored swill, barely wine at all. It was all anyone could offer, and the Thule gave it graciously along with his Swiss Army knife.

Finding an appropriate animal to bleed proved a more challenging prospect. The various wildlife of the mountain had been driven away by the sudden influx of so many predators and the great cacophony of noise the Garou brought with them. What little foolish prey remained had already been rather picked clean. Thus, it had taken time for the hunting party to sniff down a skinny squirrel and stuff it into a pillowcase, tying off the opening with a scrap of cord.

Sookie sniffed at the thoughts of offering Night Train and a mangy squirrel to the Moon. She had seen many a lean day in her years, yet nothing this lean. Never had Sookie born such a pathetic, piss-poor offering to the Moon in her life, nor had she ever spied such a paltry offering. She did not even have her offering bowl, a wide, ornate thing of scrolled filigree about the rim passed down through four generations; instead, she had a battered, red Tupperware bowl that had, until quite recently, held potato salad. It would have to suffice.

One of the Rougarou, her kin folk, helped Sookie bring the supplies down the mountain to meet Alain. He stood in the road leading up to the gaping hole in the mountain, shirtless and proud. The packmaster nodded to his Law and his kin before gathering up all the things from them. Sookie opened her mouth to argue, but she snapped it shut, knowing Alain would have none of it. He wanted this to be done and over with as quickly as possible.

Alain looked to his watch impatiently. "It's time."

He led the way, down to the road that faced the impenetrable fortress of Cheyenne Mountain. Sigurn Northman trailed at his side, while Sookie lagged slightly behind. Alain waited until certain they had slipped just beyond the range of the old Law's hearing before speaking.

"You know what to do if this looks to end badly."

Northman simply nodded; he needed no further instruction.

xxxx

When the hour finally came, O'Neill ordered the great, massive bulkhead opened only for Weylin and Ronon. He said nothing; there was nothing that could be said. Weylin and Ronon understood, accepting the small dip of the general's head as enough of a well wishing. Then, once the pair slipped through the narrow opening offered before the monstrous steel slab locked shut behind them. There were several dozen yards spanning between them and the actual portal. Ronon and Weylin strode slowly and carefully down the tunnel, neither eager to meet the fate that waited beyond.

Finally, Weylin spoke, solemnly and carefully. "Ronon, I need you to understand something."

"Hmm?"

The Garou balled his fists oddly, as though nervous. "Ronon, a challenge for leadership is not to first blood. It is to death or forfeit."

The Satedan nodded appreciatively. "So?"

Weylin sighed. "There is no forfeit. I win, or we die."

Neither said anything more as they strode out of the tunnel and into the pale, watery predawn twilight. A multitude of Garou greeted them with taunts and snarls as they walked out to the soft glow of dawn breaking upon the mountain. Ronon cautiously marveled at the sight of so many in both human skin and wolf pelt, all clamoring about the wood line to catch sight of those who dared challenge their leader. He held himself still, schooling his features though, careful not to reveal his surprise at their numbers. Ronon had never seen more than a fistful of Garou gathered in any place. The Garou on the mountain were a countless, nameless, faceless seething mass of animal flesh, like the many wasps of a hive, buzzing with life and curious murmurs of their own.

The land stank of the Garou. It reeked of their blood, spilt so freshly upon the black top. The air held the stench of animal musk and death, of bodies so swiftly cleared during the brief interlude before the challenge. There were so many people, so many unwashed who had come to the mountain, leaving behind the comforts of home to live in the wilds and possibly to die upon that mountain for their way of life, their people. It was both humbling and utterly repulsive at the same time.

Ahead of them, a strange trio stood in the center of the road. Two men and a woman. The woman was an old, bent crone of a lady, her face wrinkled like a prune, yet wise and kind in a way. The men were hard, iron-forged creatures. The center was taller, prouder, standing shirtless among the trio, waiting and clutching a sack that kicked and twitched. Ronon sniffed; this would be their challenger, Alain.

Weylin approached but said nothing, stopping a few yards away from Alain. They were far enough to keep safe distance, yet close enough that Ronon could see so plainly that this would not be an easy battle for Weylin. Weylin stood tall, yet Alain stood taller. Weylin's body was muscular and built, but Alain had been carved of stone, bulkier and stronger. Even his arms seemed to span a wider reach. There was a quickness to his eyes, a cunning there that unsettled Ronon. The Satedan had met many a man like Alain Babineaux, and none had been creatures to be dealt with lightly.

"Well, look at this," Alain sneered through teeth too sharp, too pointed to be purely human. "Weylin Canagan, as I live an' breathe."

A growl rumbled in Weylin's throat, low and menacing, but the old woman snapped viciously, silencing the threat. "Manners, now."

Weylin smiled, his grin wide and charming as he bowed his head to her. "Apologies, my Lady."

"Damn right, pup," the old woman replied. She looked to Weylin, surveying him evenly. "You issued this challenge?"

"Yes."

"To forfeit or to death," the woman went on. "You know this now, right."

Again, Weylin responded, "Yes."

She nodded slowly. "No takin' it back now."

Weylin shook his head fiercely. "I had no intentions."

The old woman sighed heavily but gestured to the two Garou with her. They handed her the sack, a plastic bowl, and a few other things. Ronon did not allow his sight to leave either of the male Garou that had met them, listening instead as the woman mixed a rancid smelling wine with something else in the bowl. Even still, as the Satedan held their gaze, she reached into the sack and pulled out a scrawny squirrel, swiftly slitting its throat and murmuring the words of offering.

On cracking, knees, the woman stepped forward, offering the bowl to both Alain and to Weylin. Each lowered his head to sip at the edge of the bowl in turn. She whispered something to each, something Ronon did not hear initially, not until it was Weylin's turn to drink.

"Drink of the Moon," the elderly thing offered. As Weylin bent to lap at the blood-wine mixture, she added in a hushed, warning, "There is no going back from a challenge, no matter what the outcome. I sure hope yer prepared for it."

The old woman drew back from the Garou, giving them space. She held the plastic bowl up to her own pale, drawn lips, sipping at the remaining blood and wine gingerly. Then, the frail seeming thing lifted the bowl up over her head. She loosed a lonesome, baying howl that was met by the rise of several thousand voices calling as one, to the night that swiftly fled with the dawn, to their ancient gods, and to their untamed kind. Alain and Weylinb tilted their own heads back to cry out like the wild beasts they were, so loudly and so fiercely that it startled even the mighty Ronon.

Then, just like that, it stopped, the silence deafening for but a millisecond before Alain and Weylin threw themselves at one another.

xxxx

Lady Birkita drew a sharp gasp through her teeth as the challenge began, watching from John Sheppard's bedside on a tablet monitor as the ordeal began. The colonel slept, dead to the world and sleeping off the effects of the illness wrought by the chocolate. Yet, she could not rest, could not relax, not when the fate of the Garou and the humans rested upon Weylin's shoulders.

She whispered a silent prayer to the Moon to protect them.

xxxx

The change had come upon them so swiftly that Ronon would have been hard pressed to tell exactly when they began to shift, to grow fur as muscles bulged beyond normal constraints and as bones snapped to unnatural shapes. However, by the time the two Garou landed, both were a curious blend between human and wolf.

There were two kinds of fights in the world. Most fights were large, flashy, and showy "don't-mess-with-me" fights, in which the combatants cared less about winning and more about making a point that neither was to be taken lightly. Those fights were long and dramatic demonstrations of strength and stamina. Then, there were real fights, the sort of back-alley brawls that were short, hard and desperate, without any sense of rules or decorum. They were nasty, ugly, brutal fights. This was one of those very battles.

The two Garou landed amid a fury of dark fur, wrestling and scrambling about one another. They snapped and slashed at one another, rolling about on the cold, unforgiving pavement leading up to the North Portal. It reminded Ronon of so called "sporting" dogfights.

Then, suddenly, Alain slammed down hard on Weylin, pinning him to the ground upon his back. Ronon held his breath as Alain's jaws came crashing down towards his friend's neck, sharp, jagged teeth flashing dangerously in the predawn light. Weylin held himself just so, twisting out of the way at the last second and narrowly averting Alain's crushing bite. Alain growled viciously to be denied the blood he so hungered for, but Weylin merely snapped back, clamping down on his opponent's neck.

Alain rolled, ripping Weylin's teeth from his fur, before circling back and coming for Weylin once more. He swung out in his fury at Weylin, his claws finding purchase upon Weylin's flank. Those deadly talons shredded the flesh beneath them, ripping long gashes in Weylin's side. He stumbled and howled in agony, sending Ronon's heart racing, but he rallied back.

The two Garou momentarily circled one another, stalking each other on the pavement. Alain stood proud and tall, preening as he crossed the scarlet splatter that was Weylin's freshly spilt blood. He hooted, barking mockingly at the other wolf. Weylin, for his part, hunkered low, skulking across the pavement and pretending not to limp as he did.

When the sun finally crested over the mountain, bathing the road in dazzling light, they jumped at each other, leaping once more into a swirling maw of fur, and teeth, and claws, raging and seething in the golden light of dawn. Alain moved swiftly, striking blow after blow to the injured Weylin, toying with him like a cat with a mouse. Weylin struggled to keep pace, to deliver his own strikes between those of Alain. He landed a few, but they were glancing compared to what Alain dealt in return.

Alain sprang on compact legs, hurtling through the air to Weylin. Alain was larger and bulkier than his opponent, and he easily pounced upon the smaller wolf, knocking him to the ground. Weylin swallowed a yelp as he landed hard, tackled by the heftier Garou. Alain leaned down to him, slower this time, more carefully, ready not to let Weylin slip through his grip this time.

Ronon's heart hammered in his chest as Weylin struggled against Alain's grip, writhing beneath the other Garou. The Satedan had never known Weylin to be anything short of a fierce and valiant warrior, never losing in any battle, regardless of how the odds might have been stacked against him. Weylin simply _never _lost. Ever. Yet, Alain appeared his better, savoring this handy triumph over the wolf. Weylin must have known, from how wide his eyes were with fear.

Then, suddenly, the expression changed on Weylin's muzzle. His eyes narrowed and his jowls parted to a toothy grin. The Garou drew his hind legs up under Alain and kicked out sharply. Alain grunted from the force of the blow directly to his diaphragm while Weylin tossed him aside like a ragdoll and leapt to his padded feet. The abrupt force of the well placed kick knocked the wind right out of Alain's lungs. When Alain landed coughing and sputtering to catch his breath, Weylin was upon him.

Ronon could have whooped with joy as Weylin turned the tables so effortlessly. Alain may have had the advantage of size and strength, but he had never endured any of the horrors of the pit and Pegasus that Weylin had weathered without so much as a whimper or a tear. The pit had taught Weylin well, honing his skills, tempering him like steel. He might have been smaller, but Weylin had used his seeming weakness in compare to draw Alain in closer.

Weylin slashed at Alain, raking his claws down the other Garou's neck, spilling more blood onto the road with a sickening patter. The multitudes about them gasped and murmured in shock and surprise. Ronon wondered idly if Alain had ever been bloodied up in a fight before or if he had simply taken advantage and held it from the get-go in every battle.

Alain came back for him, his teeth slicing down Weylin's side. One of those long, pearled fangs caught on the dark wolf's pelt and tore through the fur and skin. Weylin howled and kicked out, swatting Alain back before reeling towards him.

The smaller Garou caught Alain by his neck between two, monstrous, meaty paws. Weylin sneered close in Alain's fast as his fingers clamped down, digging deeply into the muscle. Alain's eyes went wide as he gasped for breath and found nothing. The other Garou booed and jeered as Weylin held Alain in a vicious choke. Alain swatted at him, but Weylin neatly dogged the strikes, holding tight to Alain's neck all the while.

That advantage did not remain for long. To Ronon's horror, Alain reared up. His teeth found purchase on Weylin's face. Those long, deadly canines cut down, tearing through Weylin's flesh and shredding his eye. The Garou cheered as a whole at the violence, the bloodshed. Weylin yelped now, unable to contain himself. He jerked away, shaking his head. When the smaller wolf looked up once more, there was a ruined, bloody mess where his right eye should have been. The blood ran freely now, pouring from the many slices through his face, dripping down Weylin's ebony muzzle and forming a slick puddle at his feet, gleaming in the morning sun.

Ronon balled his fists, but there was nothing that could be done for Weylin's damaged eye. Not now. Weylin stood on his own against Alain. He had to for all their kind, even if the Garou might not know it yet.

Alain took Weylin's faltering for a brief moment to collect himself. He scurried away from the smaller, darker beast, but not so far as to suggest concession, just far enough to recover himself before coming at Weylin once more. He had circled to the right, to Weylin's newly blind side, bolting out of nowhere at the smaller, black Garou. Alain hung his head, his jaws wide open to bite at Weylin. The black wolf moved to slip out of Alain's path, but, at the very last second, Alain shifted himself back, ducked his head and crashed into Weylin's flank. Alain drove into him with all the force of a freight train, and Weylin went sprawling from it.

Weylin shuddered and slumped on the road, stunned. He threw out his forelegs, clambering to his feet awkwardly, swaying as though dazed. His blinked, his one eye unfocused, never seeing Alain as he charged, nor as he swung out with a meaty forelimb, smashing into Weylin's foreleg. The bone cracked audibly, drawing a sickening howl from the wounded wolf as he slowly sank to the ground once more.

Alain leapt, a frenzy of teeth and talons, ripping at the fallen Weylin.

"Weylin!"

Something snapped in Ronon. The Satedan moved before Alain could further mutilate Ronon's fallen kin, before he even knew it. A thousand voices cried out in objection, but Ronon heard none of them, saw not a one. He saw only Weylin, his friend, his pack, as another wolf bore down upon him. The Satedan reached out with a sudden ferocity, snatching Alain out of the air and shaking him from Weylin fiercely.

A hundred thousand voices cried out as one in shock and surprise, before turning angry and growling bitterly. Ronon barely heard them. He had ears only for Alain, for the sweet yelp that cracked from the Garou's spittle flecked jowls. Alain twisted and jerked in the Satedan's grasp, writhing like a caught fish. He clawed for Ronon's long, muscle knotted arms, but Ronon hardly felt the sting of Alain's talons.

Once, many years earlier, Ronon had similarly pounced upon an unwary Wraith to cross his path. He had stayed in a small village for a night – a single night – and the Wraith had destroyed it in the morning before scouring the forest for the lone runner. It had been a young drone, likely not long from the crèche and certainly inexperienced at the hunt to be caught alone like that. The drone had been strong, but Ronon had simply caught it by the throat and squeezed with everything in him until the scutes shattered beneath his fingers.

Ronon held Alain with the same strength, the same ferocity and undeniable rage that he had held that young drone, shaking from the effort. The Garou's eyes went wide, bugging out with the sharp pressure clamped down upon his windpipe. The wolf's jaws opened and closed balefully, longing to rip Ronon apart.

A cracked, rasping voice called, "Ronon….. don't."

It was Weylin; Ronon kept his grip and glanced to the fallen Garou. He had retaken his human skin but the change had done little to mask the damage of the skirmish. Weylin's savaged eye oozed vitreous fluid and blood from the socket, seeping the ruined hole and down his cheek. Gashes marred his once elegantly sculpted features. Bruises bloomed upon his face and down his flanks amid a sea of scratches and cuts of varying size and depth. He clutched a swollen, clearly broken arm to his bare, heaving chest.

"Ronon…." Weylin breathed, little more than a whimper.

The Satedan blinked, and, at once, the anger in him melted away to spy the hundreds of Garou descending to the road, their eyes fixed firmly upon Ronon alone. His grip loosened on Alain, enough for the grey wolf to slip from his fingers. Alain flopped to the ground, gasping for air as he did for but a moment before his face turned to a dark sneer.

Ronon blinked slowly once more as reason slowly crept back into him and allowed him to see, truly see what had just happened because of him. A hundred thousand Garou thundered in the trees, racing to the defense of their kin, to the slaughter of the Satedan. He had breached some law, some hidden measure of the Garou unwittingly.

"BASTARD!" Someone bellowed behind Ronon.

The Satedan whipped about in time for the first Garou to spring, just in time to deliver a solid blow to the monstrous, wolf-like figure. Another snarled behind him, but, before Ronon could face his second attacker, a second figure threw its self in the Garou's path. It was a shaggy, grey-pelted creature bordering between wolf and man that clutched something in its furred paw. It let loose a wild, savage roar, baring pearly teeth and long claw. The charging Garou scrambled to stop dead in its tracks, as did many of the others that came tearing down the mountain for Ronon.

The canine features melted away as the newcomer shuffled loose his wolf pelt in favor of human skin and jaw structure meant for human speech enough to bark in Nodonn Cole's voice, "Stop! Just stop this right now!"

"Nodonn, you stay out of this!" Alain shouted as he got to his feet, wiping a droplet of blood from his lip with the back of his hand. "He's mine."

"No," Nodonn snapped back, his eyes narrowed to slits. "He's _nobody's_."

Several of the Garou advanced further, their muscles twitching with anticipation, but Alain silenced them all with a feral growl. The leader of the Garou stood, nude but for the morning light to face Nodonn Cole while the captain slowly turned on his heels. Nodonn's eyes swept over the multitudes of Garou all eager to destroy the seeming betrayers of their species, and his heart hammered in his chest at the thought of those many seething forms coming down for them.

Ronon took the opportunity to slide just a few feet away to Weylin's side. The fallen Garou worked to right himself, to climb to his feet and meet whatever fate came their way. The broken but unbowed man allowed the Satedan to gingerly haul him up by a forearm but shrugged off any further assistance, preferring to stand on his own.

"He's nobody's," Nodonn repeated carefully, firmly. "He belongs to no man."

Nodonn Cole closed his eyes for but a moment, just a moment of stillness before the nightmare was to begin. He took a deep breath and tried desperately to calm his nerves and racing heart, to stem the sea of adrenaline coursing through him. The captain had taken all the necessary steps, but nothing could possibly prepare him to make this treason.

"Or what?" Alain hissed through teeth barely meant for human language.

Nodonn said nothing but held out the thing in his hand- his cell phone- brandishing it like a sword. Several of the Garou cocked their heads to the side, confused and intrigued by this curious move of Nodonn's. Alain paused before laughing, a loud, raucous and haughty sound which was joined by the rest of his kind on the mountain.

"And who are you going to call with that little thing? The cops? The army?" Alain teased with near sinister delight. "I hate to break it to you, but they're not coming."

Nodonn refused to be baited. Instead, he responded only by setting the phone to speaker and punching a number. The phone dialed, a series of chirping beeps. It rang, but not long before anyone answered.

"Cole, you've better have good news," General O'Neill yelled without any greeting.

"General O'Neill," Nodonn Cole called, his voice firm and unyielding. "I have, in my hands, my phone, preloaded with a video already addressed to as many major media outlets and political officials possible. With the press of one button – just one button – it's sent. This video details the very nature of the projects at Cheyenne Mountain including the Stargate. I have included specifics to the gate operation, security procedures of the complex, access codes, and the names of as many ranking officials I could possibly think of at the time."

There came a moment of consideration before O'Neill breathed over the phone, clearly resigned by this fresh blow, "I'm listening."

Nodonn turned his gaze back to the Garou. "Alain Babineaux of the Cado. On this video, I have also included video of myself…" He swallowed, still uncomfortable with his own plan. "Changing." There came an outcry from the Garou, sending chills down Nodonn's spine. "As well as specific details to our kind as much as possible, including our weaknesses."

"Traitor!" a voice accused, breaking the dam.

Slurs and insults cascaded down onto Cole, but he closed them out. Instead, he focused his attention upon Alain as the Garou slunk towards him. Alain was fast, far faster than Nodonn. Alain had earned his place by force and held it for years without reprisal, mostly because Nodonn had not cared to fight him. They were kin, cousins and blood relatives. Nodonn knew Alain better than most before he left for the military, and he knew that this betrayal would not be taken lightly.

Alain visibly trembled with frustration, but, instead, he stayed his hand. "What do you want?"

Nodonn swallowed, his mouth suddenly bone dry. He had barely thought that stopping a battle would work, let alone consider any demands now that he held both the SGC and the Garou by the metaphoric balls. Nodonn glanced to Sookie Babineaux, to the weathered old woman who had been his mother for so many years, and she gave a tiny, subtle nod of encouragement.

"A meeting," Nodonn forced out, nearly choking on the words. "Between the humans and us." There arose a hiss from the crowds, a murmur of unrest, but Nodonn went on, "A peace treaty."

"I can't speak for the whole US government," O'Neill responded swiftly.

Nodonn shook his head. "With all due respect, sir, that's BS. You've been part of dozens of offworld treaties that the President hasn't even heard about, and you know it."

"I didn't say I wouldn't try," O'Neill piped up.

The Garou muttered something as a collective, but Nodonn held Alain's gaze and waited. Garou were animals, to a certain extent, and, as such, unpredictable at best. O'Neill and the humans might keep their word, but there was still no telling what the Garou might do.

Alain looked to another at his side, a stranger that Nodonn did not recognize, but Babineaux addressed Cole when he spoke. "Alright. You'll have your little meet-and-greet."

xxxx

Jack O'Neill, Samantha Carter and Daniel Jackson took the time to ready themselves as they would for any other diplomatic mission. Jackson had spent days in quiet study in his lab and personal library on the base, avoiding public spaces as much as possible in order to bypass another potential relations disaster with the Garou. When he heard of Lady Birkita's deception, the archeologist had initially been shocked and angered, but, now, he was thankful. If it were not for Birkita's carefully laid ruse, none of them would have had anything resembling the attire necessary for a diplomatic gathering, although he somehow doubted the wolves out there cared about pressed suits and starched colors fresh from the in-house laundry service.

They met the lady outside the infirmary. She smiled nervously to them and offered a half-hearted wave. Jackson wanted to hate her, to loathe her for the lies she had told and the awful war Birkita had unwittingly drawn them into. He wanted to so desperately, but, when Jackson spied her, he knew that this was the last thing Birkita or any of them had wanted. Jackson saw it in her eyes, those tired, frozen things; it had been a mistake, an accident, and an utter mess that had been so far outside the realm of possibilities in Birkita's eyes that she had never considered anything going this far.

She opened her mouth, and an apologetic voice slipped out, "Dr. Jackson-"

"It doesn't matter," Jackson offered before Birkita could say anything. "It's in the past." He pulled a journal from his pack and flipped the first blank page. "Anything I should know before we get into this."

"I'm coming with you."

O'Neill folded his arms across his chest. "Oh, no you're not."

"You need leverage," Birkita reasoned. "My kind will never listen to you, not really, unless you have something to offer them. Something good."

O'Neill leveled a stern gaze upon the albino, and he knew, just knew, that this was a battle he could never win. Even if he wanted to deny it, Birkita was telling the truth. The Garou would never budge, not an inch, unless they viewed any semblance of value and honesty in the trade. Birkita could speak with them, for the humans, perhaps sway the Garou to their side.

"Fine."

xxxx

Alain Babineaux watched as the blood traitors moved closer together. Weylin Canagan clung to the tall, dark stranger who had dared raise hand against him and stop the duel. Nodonn Cole. Alain seethed inwardly as he stared at them, those bastards. They stayed off to the side together, a cancer that required culling before it could infect the rest of his kind, and Alain was the only one who could do it.

When Alain spotted shadows in the tunnel, he drew close to Northman and whispered in his ear. "You know what to do."

xxxx

They strode down the North Portal together, the four of them. Lady Birkita. O'Neill. Carter. Jackson. They said nothing to one another; there was nothing to be said.

O'Neill's heart tightened with each step oddly with a strange, sinking sensation. It was the same weird knowledge that things were about to go completely FUBAR. It was the same feeling he had on Abydos to see Ra with their captured bomb, the same feeling when he knew he saw his bag sitting by the doorframe and knew his marriage was officially over. The general could not place it, though, could not point to any specific reason in this case.

O'Neill forced the feeling down and continued along with Carter and Jackson, following closely at Birkita's heels.

xxxx

Weylin watched the tunnel carefully as soon as he sensed any motion from it. He wondered who the humans might send out to warily word any treaty arising from this morning. His heart lifted when he caught a familiar scent on the wind. Birkita. He lifted his functioning eye to the tunnel and watched for her.

She must have seen him long before anyone else saw her. Birkita smiled, just smiled. Weylin held his breath; she was still the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, Garou or human, and still so delicate and fair after all these years.

The mountain shattered, and, just like that, she was gone.

**XXX**

**XXXXX**

**XXX**


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